


The Secrets We Keep

by FrancesOsgood



Series: The Secrets We Keep [1]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Assault, Child Death, Death, Drunken Shenanigans, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hate Crimes, Horny Teenagers, Multi, Oral Sex, Psychological Trauma, Sex, Slow Burn, Threats of Violence, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-10-27 18:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 41,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesOsgood/pseuds/FrancesOsgood
Summary: Fifteen years after defeating the Labyrinth, Sarah Williams is squirreled away in a small town in England writing children's books. A chance encounter with the former king of the goblins brings her face to face with her personal demons and the secrets she has spent years running from. However, she's not the only one sheltering life-shattering secrets.





	1. Hellfire and Brimstone

**Author's Note:**

> This story was loosely inspired by "The Lost and Lonely" by MemoryCrow as well as an offhand comment made by David Bowie regarding the Goblin King. This will be a slow-burn with some angst, a generous dose of humor and hopefully quite a lot of sexual content. There will also be darker thematic elements involving bigotry, trauma and death. I will do my best to tag these as they are presented. 
> 
> Great Missenden is a real place that I have only visited via research. I have taken creative liberties with the town and public places and people. I have also taken some creative license with London and King's College. Please overlook anything you may feel I have gotten "wrong" unless I truly commit some grievous error of culture. Then, by all means, bring it to my attention. 
> 
> I will be including my playlist with each chapter. Please check out the song(s) listed or follow me on Spotify.
> 
> ~Fanny~

_“I have seen your adulteries and your lustful neighings, the lewdness of your harlotry, your abominations on the hills in the fields. Woe to you, O Jerusalem! Will you still not be made clean?” _

Sarah squirmed uncomfortably in her seat as Rev. Clarkston’s voice thundered down from the rafters of the little stone church of Great Missenden. Normally, she was able to detach herself from the sermons and focus on the lighter, less hell-fire-and-brimstone aspects of Sunday services. The music was always lovely; the small choir and old organ filled up the space with melodic poetry.

The church building itself was beautiful. Centuries old and made of stone with a large bell tower complete with battlements, it looked like a small-scale castle. All of the windows were stained glass, even the large window to the rear of the choir loft. On bright mornings, the sun sparkled through the colored glass, spilling a rainbow across the polished floors. Most Sundays Sarah was content to sit and lose herself in the beauty of the church. But on this Sunday, Rev. Clarkston was on a bit of a tear and there was no escaping his sermon of doom.

“The Lord God Almighty sees into the hearts of men and women. They can hide their depravity from neighbors, their friends, their church, but they will never hide it from God! The Almighty knows what darkness lurks there, what evil, what abomination, what lust and He will judge from on high!”

Sarah closed her eyes and tried to think of happier things. She made certain to nod in agreement every now and again so the others in the congregation would think she was praying and not asleep.

She thought of her family: Robert, her father, back at home still plugging away as a personal accountant. Karen, her stepmother who was on her third career change, or was it her fourth? It was hard for Sarah to keep track. Karen had stopped working as an interior decorator and was now selling beauty products for some company out of Utah. Before the stint as an interior decorator she had tried her hand at secretarial work, but left after only three months.

Sarah thought of Toby, her somewhat sulky, fifteen-year-old half-brother. He was as tall as she was, but still looked at her as if she were a giant. Sarah enjoyed his adoration, especially since it rankled Karen so much.

“I wish he would open up to _me_ the way he opens up to _you_!” Karen had whined the last time Sarah visited.

She didn’t have anything against Karen, really. Not anymore. Not since… But it still felt good to have a one-up on her since she had shown up when Sarah was a teen and made her life more complicated. Not that it was her fault, but… Sarah didn’t want to open up that particular can of worms this Sunday.

She tried to focus on Toby. How he’d cut off his blonde curls and dyed his remaining hair black. How he listened to bands with names like “Death Punch” and “Hell Whores”. He liked to playfully make fun of Sarah’s new-found interest in religion.

“You don’t actually believe all that God-Jesus-devil-hell mumbo-jumbo, do you?” he asked her once.

She’d answered as honestly as she’d known how. “I don’t know,” she had said. “Some of it seems a bit far-fetched. But it’s still a lovely story, right? A god who gave his son to save mortals from the powers of evil?”

Toby had pulled a face. “How ‘bout a god who just leaves everyone the fuck alone and lets them be happy?” he’d grunted.

“Language, Tobes.” Sarah had warned.

“Geez, you’re such a fucking nun,” teased her brother. Sarah smiled at the memory, unaware that a pair of eyes was watching her from the opposite side of the church.

* * *

“Why were you grinning like such a goon while Clarkston rained down his wrath from on high?” asked Moira.

“What?” Sarah replied, confused.

“During the sermon,” continued her friend. “The good reverend was railing on the evils of pornographic books and you got this big, spacey grin on your face.”

Sarah looked at her friend as they exited the vestibule and walked out into the cool October air. Moira was quite a bit older than Sarah, married with two children and a collection of stray animals. She narrowed her hazel eyes at Sarah and frowned. “Are you working too hard?”

Sarah shook her head. “No, I was just thinking of my brother.” She laughed. “I was wondering what he would think about that sermon.”

Moira paused and waved back to her husband who was several yards behind them walking arm in arm with their seventeen-year-old son, Kevin. Their daughter, twelve-year-old Lily, lagged behind them with a giggling group of friends.

“Whew, was a fiery one, wasn’t it?” Moira asked. She leaned in close to Sarah as they walked down the hill from the stone church. “I think it was a response to a call Clarkston made to Mrs. Hull last week.”

Seeing Sarah’s quizzical expression, she continued. “He happened upon her in her garden. She was reading The Book.”

Sarah didn’t have to ask what book Moira was referring to. Everyone in Great Missenden knew about The Book. It was quite the scandal. The Book, entitled _Her Majesty’s Jewels_, was the new sensation amongst readers of erotic literature. It had created a rather large stir in the States before crossing the pond and causing an uproar in London. It was backordered for weeks in all the London bookshops. Dog-eared copies were passed around among friends and co-workers.

“Where did Mrs. Hull even get a copy of that book?” Sarah asked.

Moira grinned, eager to share her gossip. “I hear that she has a cousin in London who is friends with a hairstylist who is friends with a woman who owns a bookshop who happened to get a used copy.”

“Convenient,” laughed Sarah.

Moira waved her off. “Anyway, old Clarkston caught her reading it and nearly had a stroke! He threatened to make her give up her spot on the Ladies’ League unless she turned the book over to him. She did and I heard he lit a match to it right in front of her.”

Sarah shook her head. “All this uproar over a little bit of erotica? People really need to lighten up.”

Moira raised an eyebrow. “From what I hear, it’s not just a ‘little bit of erotica’, Sarah Williams. It’s a big, nasty smutfest with graphic descriptions of male organs and oral sex…”

Sarah laid a hand over her heart and affected her best genteel Southern accent. “Oh my, my!” she taunted. “Whatever shall we do?!”

Moira smacked at her friend with her Bible. “You’re trouble, Williams,” she said. “It’s probably a good thing you just write children’s books.”

“Definitely,” replied Sarah.

“Although,” added Moira, “It might be nice to have the paychecks that G.K. Ibis is getting for _Her Majesty’s Jewels_!”

“Again, definitely,” Sarah answered.

Her friend stopped and looked up at the sky. “Kevin’s therapy bills are outrageous,” she said. “And I’m not sure the sessions have helped at all. He’s still so withdrawn and doesn’t speak a word.” Her face grew solemn. “He was such a bright, bubbly boy before his brother died.”

Sarah didn’t know much about Moira’s other son, Kieran, other than that he was Kevin’s twin who had died under mysterious circumstances when the boys were seven. Kevin was traumatized by the tragedy, going into a near catatonic state. He never fully recovered and remained mute and mentally and emotionally challenged.

“You know my offer to help still stands,” Sarah told Moira.

Moira shook her head. “That’s very generous of you, Sar, but no. Brant and I can handle it. We’ve managed so far.”

“Okay, well let me know if you need anything.” said Sarah as she hugged her friend and turned to walk up the path to her small rowhouse.

She turned and waved from her front door to Moira. She pulled out her keys and unlocked her door and stepped inside her small house. Her cat, Sir Lancelot, a fat orange tabby who had adopted her, meowed hungrily. Sarah dropped a few morsels into his dish before turning to her bookshelf. She eyed the large green book in its place on the shelf for a moment before taking it out and scurrying to her hall closet. She tossed her copy of _Her Majesty’s Jewels_ up onto the top shelf of the closet and covered it with several layers of tissue paper.

“_No need to give Clarkston an aneurysm,_” she thought as she closed the closet door. 

* * *

That evening, Sarah decided to grab an early supper at her favorite pub, _The Cross Keys._ She took her normal seat by the large front window so she could people-watch as she ate. There wasn’t a lot in the way of foot traffic in Great Missenden due to its size, but occasionally the odd tourist found it, much the way she had, and doddled about with a backpack and camera and well-worn guide book.

Sarah thought back to how she found her way to Great Missenden a few years earlier. Her series of children’s books had done relatively well. They weren’t best sellers, but Sarah had never expected them to be. She simply had stories to tell and so she’d done it the best way she knew how, through written words.

Having abandoned her earlier ambitions to become an actress, she had found that she was much more skilled at being the writer of the lines than the performer of said lines. After graduating with a degree in Creative Writing, Sarah had had moderate success with her stories, publishing several in magazines and writing journals. She had decided to branch out and write books for children. Her stories focused on the magical adventures of a young boy named Toby and his dog Merlin as they explored the Underground realm of the Goblin Kingdom. Sarah naturally based them on her own experiences in the wild land of the Labyrinth, and their vivid imagery and humorous situations quickly caught the eye of a publisher. She had secured an agent and then set to work on the next series of stories for publication. And that was where she had run into a snag.

Having spent a mere ten hours in the Underground, Sarah found herself out of ideas. She tried making up new characters, tried coming up with more dangers for Toby and Merlin to find themselves in, but she continued to backspace them out of existence. They felt wrong somehow. False.

With her agent and publishing company on her heels for more material, Sarah had decided a change of location might jumpstart her creativity. She’d taken what money she had made from her books, quit her part-time as a Literature tutor and moved from the United States to a tiny town about thirty miles outside of London.

“_You know writer’s block wasn’t the only reason you moved here,_” the annoying little voice inside her head chided.

Sarah ignored it. She wasn’t going to think about that. Great Missenden proved to be a refreshing change from the hustle and bustle of city life. It was charming, quaint. It had also been the home of one of Sarah’s idols, Roald Dahl. As a child, his books had been among her favorites, second only to a certain red leather-bound book she kept by her bed. Upon her arrival, Sarah had immediately gone to the Roald Dahl Museum in town and offered herself as a volunteer. She had hoped to meet the townspeople and gain their trust through the position, but the inhabitants of Great Missenden rarely visited the museum, leaving that to tourists and expats such as herself.

Still considered an outsider and regarded warily by most of the townspeople, Sarah had at last bitten the bullet and gone to the one place that everyone seemed connected to in some way, the local church. She had never considered herself religious, but she knew enough of magic and the mystical unknown to be at least open-minded about spiritual teachings. The church appealed to her sensibilities and she found herself going regularly. Moira was one of the first of the congregation to approach her. She’d introduced herself and her family and quickly made sure that Sarah was included in all the upcoming church functions. The rest of the church followed suit, adopting Sarah as “that pretty American girl” and giving her a place among their ranks.

The townspeople knew she was a writer, and while not considered a particularly respectable profession for a young woman, they overlooked it as simply a result of her American upbringing. She would give it up soon enough, they figured, find a nice local young man to marry and start populating the shrinking town with dark-haired green-eyed offspring like all respectable young women did.

Sarah laughed to herself as she stirred the warm stew the waitress had set in front of her. “_If they only knew…_” she thought to herself.

A rumble of thunder brought her out of her reverie and she turned to look out the window. Rain had begun to fall in fat droplets that splashed up from the sidewalk and spilled out of the gutters. Across the street, a man stepped out of the local bookshop and paused under the striped awning. Sarah squinted through the rain-streaked window at the figure whose form and bearing seemed strangely familiar. He looked up at the sky and then stepped back, as if contemplating whether or not to make a run from under the awning. Sarah chuckled to herself as she watched his indecision.

“_Probably a tourist,_” she thought. “_Who comes to England without an umbrella?_”

Finally the man seemed to make up his mind. Gathering his parcels and using them to cover his head, he ducked out from under the awning and splashed across the street toward the _The Cross Keys_.

Sarah sat back as the door to the pub swung open and the man stepped in, dripping and out of breath.

Her heart leapt into her throat as he turned and looked down at her and she found herself staring up into a pointed smile and a pair of mis-matched eyes.

* * *

**A/N: Playlist: _Polaroid_-Imagine Dragons, _Crystals-_Of Monsters and Men, _Secrets_-One Republic. **

* * *


	2. Sturm und Drang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Dream"- Imagine Dragons, "Stars Are on Your Side"- Ross Copperman, "The Enemy"- Andrew Belle

Sarah’s heart echoed the rumbling thunder outside as she stared at the man who had come into the pub. He hadn’t changed much, really. He looked less Fae-like and more human, but noticeably handsome. His wild hair had been tamed, cut short and falling in soft waves across his forehead. His formerly ornate brows looked relatively normal, sandy blonde but with a regal arch. He had also traded in his leather and armor and extra-tight breeches for mundane clothing: plain, but perfectly tailored dark blue slacks, a white button-down shirt with a loose blue tie, and a pair of sensible black shoes. His ensemble was capped off by a long black trench coat and a pair of black leather driving gloves. Despite his human-like appearance and un-noteworthy outfit, Sarah would have recognized the Goblin King anywhere. 

He smiled at her for a few moments before speaking. “Sarah dear,” he said sweetly, “Are you going to continue gawking at me or are you going to invite me to sit down?”

Sarah stared at him, still dumbstruck. She wanted to ask him what he was doing there. What he wanted with her. She wanted to scream her former declaration at him.

“You--” she began, thinking the lines in her head. “You… are dripping wet.” 

The Goblin King looked down at his sopping coat and squishy shoes. “Yes,” he replied. “The weather turned ghastly and caught me off guard, I’m afraid. Pity, it had been so pleasant.” 

“Funny,” said Sarah, her gaze not leaving his face. “I thought you liked thunderstorms.”

He chuckled. “Only for dramatic effect,” he told her. “May I?” he asked, nodding to the chair opposite her. Sarah nodded and he sat down after depositing his parcels into the seat next to him and shrugging out of his damp coat. He gazed at her from across the table as he slowly removed his dark gloves and set them aside.

“Well?” he asked at last.

“Well what?” echoed Sarah.

“Have you nothing to say?” he continued. “No ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘What do you want from me?’ ‘You have no power over me’?” He grinned and Sarah could tell he was baiting her. She refused to take it.

Shaking her head, she replied, “No. I kind of always figured I’d run into you again some day.” She looked around the pub. “I just never thought it would be here.”

The Goblin King nodded, smiling. “Ah yes,” he said. “Which brings us back to the question of what we _ are _doing here. What is Sarah Williams doing in Great Missenden?” 

“I live here,” she answered flatly. “Your turn.”

“Really?” asked the Goblin King, splaying his tapered fingers across the table. “Interesting.” He paused and looked out the window. “I’m here for books,” he told her.

“Books?” asked Sarah.

“Yes, you know those things with words on pages that people used to enjoy before everyone started staring at their phones?” the Goblin King snipped. 

“I know books, Goblin King,” Sarah retorted. “In fact, I write them. That’s partly why I’m here. For inspiration.”

“Well well,” said the Goblin King. “Congratulations, Sarah dear. I’m glad you're making good use of your rather vivid imagination.” Sarah could tell his remarks were heartfelt. 

“Um, thanks,” she mumbled in response.

A waitress approached and handed the Goblin King a menu and Sarah stood. 

“I-- I have to go,” she told him. “I have work to do and…”

“Oh nonsense, Sarah. Sit down. You haven’t even finished your stew, which smells delicious.” He turned to the waitress. “I’ll have the same as the lady here,” he said with a smile.

Sarah flopped back down into her chair and fiddled with her napkin. She could feel the Goblin King’s eyes on her, but couldn’t bring herself to look back at him.

“Sarah,” he said at last, “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“No,” she answered, finally venturing a quick look at him. “I-- I just don’t know what to think. I mean, it’s ridiculous, you being here and all. What are you doing here?”

“I told you,” he said leaning back in his chair. “I’m here for books.”

“But why here? Don’t you have bookstores in the Goblin Kingdom?”

The Goblin King sighed. “The book I needed is very rare. I managed to track down a copy at the bookstore across the way,” he told her, nodding to the store across the street. “I’m just over in London, so rather than pay horrendous shipping costs and wait several days, I decided to pop over and pick it up myself.”

“Wait,” said Sarah. “What do you mean you’re in London?”

“I live there,” he answered. His stew arrived before he could elaborate and he quickly tucked into it. Sarah watched him eat, transfixed by the sight of the king of the goblins enjoying a mundane bowl of stew from a cheap pub. Her own stew was getting cold, so she turned her attention to it rather than questioning him further. 

They ate in silence for several minutes, the only sounds the pattering rain on the window and the slight slurping and non-verbal appreciation of the hearty stew. 

Finally sated, the Goblin King pushed his bowl away and glanced at Sarah. “I suppose,” he began, “you’re wondering why I’m living in London.”

“I did wonder,” answered Sarah. “But I figured it was none of my business.”

The Goblin King glanced wistfully out the window where the rain was finally letting up. “I’ve left the Underground,” he told her. “I’m no longer the Goblin King. “I’ve abdicated.”

Sarah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What?” she exclaimed. “You can even do that?”

“Of course,” chuckled the Not-Goblin King. “What did you think? Did you believe I was chained to it like a genie to a magic lamp?” He paused to gauge her reaction. Sarah only gazed back, wide-eyed. 

“I was weary of it before your run,” the Goblin King told her. “Your triumph gave me the push I needed to finally give it up and leave it to someone better suited to it. Heaven knows I haven’t the patience for drunken goblins and screaming babies.” 

“You didn’t enjoy it?” asked Sarah.

He gave her his trademark smirk. “No more than you enjoyed babysitting your baby brother.”

“Point made,” said Sarah.

“How is your brother, by the way?” asked the Goblin King.

Sarah looked up at him, alarmed. “Oh no, Goblin King. We’re not going down that road again. You can just stay the hell away from Toby.”

The Goblin King rolled his odd eyes at her. “For pity’s sake, Sarah. Do pay attention. I’m not the king of the goblins anymore and have no intention of doing anything in the slightest to your brother. I was merely asking. He was quite a charming fellow as I recall.”

“Yeah? Well, you might not think so now,” Sarah replied, relaxing somewhat. She thought of the surly teen who was driving her parents mad with his angst-ridden outbursts and his blasting of heavy metal music. “He’s changed quite a bit.”

“Pity,” said the Goblin King.

“So, if you’re not the Goblin King anymore, what do you do?” Sarah asked him. His eyes lit up and he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a silver case. He pulled a card from the case and slid it across the table. Sarah picked it up and read it.

_ Dr. Jareth G. Brenin _

_ Professor of European Mythology and Ancient Music _

_ King’s College London _

Sarah glanced up over the card to where he grinned at her like the Cheshire Cat. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.

“No,” he replied. “That’s what I’ve been doing for the past ten years. Enlightening young minds to stories of fairies and Celtic gods and goddesses and heroes and villains and everything in between.”

“And Ancient Music?” added Sarah.

“Oh yes, that,” he said. “It’s really just a hobby, but it doesn’t hurt one to have a side-hustle, as they say.” 

_ “You’ve no idea,” _Sarah wanted to say.

“Is that your real name?” she asked instead.

“Partly,” he replied. “Jareth is my given name. The others I made up since I have no surname. Apparently only pop-stars go solely by their first names.” 

“Brenin,” said Sarah. “Welsh?”

“Very good,” said the man known as Jareth. 

“We get a surprising number of Welsh tourists at the Dahl museum,” Sarah explained. “I volunteer there when I’m not writing, which is pretty much all the time.”

“Writer’s block?” asked Jareth.

“I guess you could call it that,” Sarah told him. He leaned forward, interested, and she continued. “To be honest, I have ideas, but I can’t make them fit. You see, I wrote my first series about the Labyrinth.”

She expected him to smile and be pleased but his scowl attested otherwise.

“Why the hell would you want to write about that?” he asked.

Sarah sat back, deflated. “I don’t know,” she told him. “It made a big impression on me. I wanted to share my experiences but I couldn’t come right out and say what had happened, so I wrote it out as stories. Unfortunately, my time there was limited and I ran out of material. Perhaps if I’d had three more hours…”

“Very funny,” Jareth said dryly.

“Well anyway, that’s how I ended up here in Great Missenden. I was chasing inspiration and maybe hoping for some residual creative mojo from Roald Dahl.” 

Jareth studied her for a moment, a look of mischief in his eyes. “Your stories of the Labyrinth,” he began. “Do they include me?”

Sarah felt her face flush. “Well, I… No,” she told him. “I didn’t really interact with you much,” she gushed when his face fell. “And besides, I didn’t just want to write you as the villain of the story. That wouldn’t have been fair. And before you say it, I am older now and _ do _in fact have a basis for comparison.”

Jareth gave her a slight smirk, but didn’t press the issue and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. In reality she _ had _tried to include the character of the Goblin King into her stories. She’d written him as sly and seductive, wiley but wise. She’d described him in detail, from his wild golden hair to his lithe figure to his pointed boots. She had not forgotten the look her editor had given her.

_ “I’m not sure how well young readers will respond to a villain who is so… alluring, Sarah,” _ she’d said. _ “Children are very black-and-white and this Goblin King is definitely a gray area. Though I think I have a bit of a crush on him.” _

_ “Get in line,” _thought Sarah. 

Unable to cast him as a pure villain, Sarah had ended up dropping the character of the Goblin King altogether. She kept her notes on him though, planning to revisit him and perhaps write a young adult series around his character. She knew it would be a big hit with the fifteen to eighteen year old female demographic. 

“Well, Sarah dear,” said Jareth as he laid his napkin and a few crisp bills on the table, “This has been lovely, but I’m afraid I have to dash. I have to catch the train back to London. I have an early class in the morning.”

Sarah shook her head slightly. Those words coming out of his mouth sounded so strange. Even surreal. 

“I’m sure you get over to the city now and then, correct?” he asked as he pulled on his gloves.

“Yes, regularly,” Sarah answered. “My agent is in London.”

“Splendid! Then you’ll have to look me up so we can chat some more. My number is on the back of my card.”

He stood and slid his coat over his shoulders and leaned down to retrieve his parcels.

“Wait,” Sarah heard herself say. She rummaged through her purse for a moment before producing a somewhat crumpled business card. 

“Here’s my number as well,” she said, extending her hand to him. He smiled and took the card but didn’t release her hand right away. Instead he leaned down and kissed the top of it and the sensation of his lips against her skin sent a jolt of electricity zig-zagging down her spine. 

“Till we meet again, Sarah,” he said with a wink. He gathered his things and left the pub and Sarah fought the urge to turn in her chair and watch him go. 

“Well, that was…” Sarah mumbled to herself aloud. _ Crazy? Fucked up? Arousing? _Her mind supplied adjectives. 

_ “And what the hell possessed you to give the Goblin King your fucking phone number?” _

Sarah grabbed her purse and threw on her parka before leaving _ The Cross Keys. _She looked around the empty streets, but there was no sign of the former Goblin King and she breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure how she would handle having someone like him hanging around with her in Great Missenden, abdication or not. It was likely he still retained some magic and even if he didn’t, Sarah knew better than to fully trust him. He was still Fae, despite his human glamour and she had read plenty about how notoriously tricky the Fae were. 

Sarah stuffed Jareth’s card into an unused side pocket of her purse. 

“_ No,” _ she thought, _ “There is just no way I can allow him too close to me. Not with these not-so-literal skeletons in my very literal closet!” _

* * *


	3. Friend and Foe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Bliss"- Muse, "Do I Wanna Know?"- Arctic Monkeys, "Beautiful Stranger"- Madonna

“So are you going to tell me who the incredibly handsome man was that you had dinner with last night?” 

Moira asked the question just as Sarah took a big gulp of coffee and the brunette coughed and sputtered, trying not to spit coffee all over the floor of the museum cafe.

“What?!” asked Sarah when she finally stopped coughing. 

Moira rolled her eyes and bit into her scone. “Don’t play dumb with me, Sarah Williams,” she said with her mouth full of scone. “I saw you in  _ The Cross Keys  _ last night with a very nice-looking man and you were hanging on every word he said.”

Sarah tried not to let her panic show. If Moira had seen her with Jareth, plenty of others may have as well. They had been sitting right by the big front window after all, and Jareth was not someone easily missed. 

“Oh, that was just Jareth,” Sarah answered, opting to play it cool. 

“Just Jareth?” asked Moira, raising an eyebrow. “That fellow was not  _ just  _ anything. How do you know him?”

Sarah fiddled with the wrapper on her banana-nut muffin as she tried to come up with a response that her friend would accept.

“I… um, I’ve known him since I was a kid,” she said. It was mostly the truth. “He’s a teacher and was kind of a… mentor to me.” She stuffed a big piece of muffin into her mouth to keep from having to say more.

Moira eyed her suspiciously and waited for her to swallow before she asked, “So what was he doing here?”

“He was picking up a book at the bookstore,” Sarah answered truthfully. “He had no idea I was living here so it was a nice little reunion. I hadn’t seen him in years…”

“You just happened to run into each other?”

Sarah bit off another piece of muffin and nodded. Moira sat back in her seat and stared at her friend. She’d been trying to set Sarah up with local guys since she had arrived, but so far had had little luck. Sarah was beautiful, and smart, and fun, and all the eligible (and some not-so-eligible) men in town had their eyes on her. She had gone out with a few very eager guys, but nothing had come of it. Sarah always seemed a bit detached and distracted and Moira wasn’t the only one who had noticed. The guys complained that while Sarah was lovely, she just didn’t seem to be “all there.” 

The look Moira had seen on her friend’s face the night before was as far from not “all there” as one could get. Sarah had been focused, intense. She’d held the gaze of the handsome man she called Jareth and was directly tuned into whatever he’d been telling her. She gave Sarah a sly smile and took a dainty sip of her coffee.

“This teacher of yours,” she began. “Did you ever... ?”

Sarah stared at her blankly. “Huh?”

“Oh you know,” said Moira. “Like the Police song,  _ Don’t Stand So Close to Me _ ?” 

“Ugh!” groaned Sarah. “It wasn’t like that! Jareth was… he was just a mentor. He helped me navigate a very difficult phase of my life. It’s not like we dated or had any romantic interest in one another. Can we drop this now?”

“Fine,” said Moira, “But just one more question. Where is he now?”

Sarah shrugged. “Back in London, I guess,” she said. “Doing his job. Teaching European Mythology.” It still sounded ridiculous to her. Jareth was the king of the goblins, not a bespectacled professor with a briefcase and elbow patches. 

“Will you see him again?” asked Moira.

“Probably not,” Sarah replied. 

“Why not? Don’t you have to go see your agent next week? You could--”

“We’re not like that!” Sarah cried, exasperated. The other patrons in the cafe turned at looked at her. She leaned across the table to her friend. “Will you please just stop playing match-maker?” she pleaded. “I need a book idea, not some idiot guy to have to entertain and look after.” 

“What you need is a good old-fashioned shag,” replied Moira. 

“Moira Dabney!” exclaimed Sarah. “I thought you were all for chastity before marriage!” 

“Oh, I am,” said Moira. “But I know you’re no blushing virgin, so there’s no point in treating you like one. You’re old enough to know what you want and what you like. I just want you to be happy, Sarah.”

“God, you sound like my stepmother Karen,” moaned Sarah. Moira smacked at her playfully and smiled.

“I have to admit,” she said. “If I weren’t a married woman, I’d be asking for that Jareth fellow’s phone number.”

“Tch, that is a minefield you definitely do  ** _not _ ** want to explore, Moira.” 

“Perhaps,” said her friend. “But I think a little bit of danger makes things even more enjoyable!” 

Sarah shook her head. The kind of danger that surrounded a being like Jareth was anything but enjoyable. She shivered thinking about her narrow escape from the Cleaners and the way he had loomed over her, both menacing and seductive in his masculinity. He  _ was _ alluring in that he was beautiful to look at, yet carried enough of the essence of risk to mark him as forbidden fruit. 

_ “A big ol’ juicy forbidden peach,”  _ Sarah thought. 

She looked up and saw Moira studying her with a concerned look on her face. 

“What are you doing here, Sarah?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you hiding here in Great Missenden? You could be anywhere. What are you running from?”

“I’m not running from anything,” Sarah lied. “I’m here for inspiration. Roald Dahl, remember?”

Sarah wanted to tell Moira about why she had truly left the States, but wasn’t yet sure she could trust her friend to not be appalled. And while she had chosen her adopted home as a place to get her creative juices flowing again, it was also useful as a place to disappear. Perhaps that’s why she had been so eager to blend in with the community. 

“I’m not buying it,” said her friend, “But I won’t push you. If you don’t want to tell me now, I accept that. I just don’t want to see you miss out on life because you’ve got your head buried in a Buckinghamshire backwater.” She stood to take her trash to the receptacle and Sarah followed.

“I appreciate your concern, Moira, I really do,” Sarah began. “I just don’t need… entanglements right now. I’m okay with the single life. I’m married to my work.”

“Except you and your work seem to be undergoing a trial separation,” teased Moira. “Perhaps your  _ mentor  _ could offer some marriage counseling,” she added with a sly smile. 

“Ugh, you’re impossible!” Sarah cried as she left her friend to head to the reception desk for her museum shift. 

* * *

The following week passed without incident. Moira finally stopped making remarks about Sarah’s “mentor” and let the matter of her love life rest. Sarah found herself inspired and managed to dash off a few pages of storyline in anticipation of her meeting with her agent. They were scheduled to meet on Thursday and she didn’t want to show up completely empty-handed. 

Thursday afternoon found Sarah sitting in the large, shadowy office of her agent as her pages were scanned over and notes were made.

“This looks promising, Sarah,” said her agent, Andy Fleming. “Meredith Publishers will be happy to see that you’re over your… slump.” 

Sarah winced at Andy’s words. She knew she had left a lot of people hanging when she had found it difficult to produce a follow-up to her first work, but under the circumstances, it couldn’t be helped. 

“What happened that got your creativity flowing again?” asked Andy.

“I… uh, ran into an old friend,” she said, feeling her face flush. 

Andy smiled and winked. “Ah, yes. Nothing like a good sack session to kick the writing mojo into gear. I would have suggested that earlier if I’d thought you were the type.”

“Whoa,” said Sarah, “That’s not what I meant. My… friend and I just talked. We’re not… Never were… And just what do you mean by ‘type’?”

“Relax,” said Andy. “It was a joke. I’m just glad to see you back at it, okay?” 

Sarah felt her righteous indignation die down a bit and sat back in her plush chair. 

“How long before you can submit a partial?” Andy asked. 

“A month?” offered Sarah. 

Andy made a note of that in a big black notebook. “I don’t suppose there’s a need to ask for an advance.”

Sarah shook her head and Andy grinned. “Of course not,” snickered the agent. 

More notes were scribbled in the notebook. “Well then,” Andy said at last. “I look forward to seeing you in a month, Sarah. Keep up the good work.” 

Sarah stood and said her goodbyes and left Andy’s office in London’s West End. She made her way several blocks over to the fashionable Soho district and its many options for adult-type refreshment. With the meeting with her agent out of the way, Sarah found herself in need of a drink.

She chose one of the less-crowded options, a pub tucked between an art gallery and a hair salon.  _ The King’s Pint  _ was charming from the outside: the lower storefront was painted bright red and gold while the upper floors consisted of a Tudor-style facade of black and white criss-crossed beams. Inside it was cozy. Dark paneling hung with hunting scenes and portraits of long-dead aristocrats surrounded the small tables and shadowy booths. Sarah took a seat at a table and ordered a drink before pulling out her phone to check her messages. There was one from Karen.

_ “Just checking in. Haven’t heard from you this week--”  _ Sarah skipped over it. She would call and reassure her stepmother later. 

The next message was from Toby. 

_ “Hey loser, give me a call. Mom and Dad are being lame and I need your help.”  _

Sarah smiled wistfully at her brother’s voice. She was about to dial his number when someone approached her table and stood looming over her.

“Pardon, sweetheart” said a gravelly voice. “Are you here alone?” Sarah looked up at the source of the voice, a middle-aged man with graying temples and drink-reddened cheeks. He gave her a wobbly smile. “Pretty thing like you don’t need to drink alone,” he continued. 

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m perfectly happy to sit here by myself and enjoy a drink,” she said, with a notable bite to her tone. The man failed to pick up on her subtle shut-down.

“Are you waiting on someone?” he asked, looking around.

“Maybe I am,” Sarah answered. 

The man leaned in closer. “Well then,” he huffed, his breath reeking of stale liquor, “I hope he don’t keep you waiting too long. Someone else might come by and be off with you.” He gave a creepy chuckle and moved in toward Sarah’s face. 

She reflexively jumped back away from the man just as a black blur moved between them causing the man to stumble backwards. Sarah looked up at the wall of black that now stood like a barricade between her and her would-be pursuer. 

“Hello, Sarah darling. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long,” purred the wall. Sarah gazed up wide-eyed at Jareth as he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. He smiled as he straightened, giving Sarah a good look at him. He wore black slacks and a fine black shirt with silver buttons. A black coat with silver silk lining was thrown over his shoulder. 

Jareth looked back at the man and scowled. “Thank you for keeping my lovely girl company until I arrived,” he said with a hint of a snarl. “You can go back to your wife and crotch-goblins now.” 

The man staggered off with a huff and Sarah let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. 

“Th--thanks,” she said, motioning for him to sit.

“You’re very welcome,” replied Jareth as he took a seat opposite her. “It’s a pity that a young woman can’t enjoy a quiet moment in a pub without being accosted by unwanted attention.”

Sarah snorted. “I happen to recall you busting up in my local pub last week and inviting yourself to my dinner for one.”

Jareth gave her a sideways glance. “That was pure coincidence, Sarah,” he said. “And I don’t remember you complaining.”

“Not then, no,” said Sarah. “But why are you here now? Are you following me?” 

Jareth looked offended. “My, don’t we think highly of ourselves?” he said. “Sarah dear, this time it is  _ you  _ who is guilty of ‘busting up’ into  _ my _ local pub. I live here. Upstairs.” 

“You--you live in  _ Soho _ ?” sputtered Sarah. 

“Yes,” answered Jareth. He added with a wink, “Care to come up?”

* * *


	4. Tea and Biscuits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Smoke and Mirrors"- Imagine Dragons, "Never Get Old"- David Bowie, "She's Thunderstorms"- Arctic Monkeys

_ “This is surreal,”  _ thought Sarah.  _ “I’m having tea with the Goblin King. In his living room. In Soho.”  _

She was sitting on his red floral couch, a dainty cup and saucer on her lap, while he puttered around and opened and closed cupboards in his kitchen.

“I do apologize for the state of my living space,” said Jareth, returning to the lounge with a tin of biscuits. “I would have tidied up a bit had I known I would be having company.” He offered her the tin and Sarah took a biscuit and set it on her saucer.

Her eyes swept around the lounge. It wasn’t dirty, and cluttered didn’t seem to be the right word to describe the space either. It was just  _ full.  _ There were towering stacks of hardcover books sitting around the room and disorderly piles of sheet music on the coffee table and the mantle. The furniture was strewn with pillows and colorful woven throws. The walls of the room were almost entirely covered in framed prints, silk fans, clocks and shadow boxes. There was hardly any space where the wallpaper showed through. A huge, old Parisian poster advertising a dance hall hung on one wall flanked by two large glass-front boxes containing a selection of moths and butterflies. There were several odd musical instruments hanging on the walls as well: a cigar box banjo, a string of copper bells and what looked like a didgeridoo. Behind the front door through which they had entered hung an old-fashioned bicycle. 

Sarah took a bite of her biscuit and looked around the room again, taking in the various pictures and books and trinkets. She’d been in what she surmised was his home in the Underground when she’d stormed his castle fifteen years earlier, but that was different somehow. To be seated on Jareth’s sofa with a mundane cup full of tea that he’d made with a very ordinary-looking teapot was hard to wrap her brain around. She felt terribly intrusive surrounded by his personal effects and collected belongings. 

“What brings you to Soho?” Jareth asked, taking a small sip of his tea. 

“I met with my agent today,” Sarah answered. 

“Ah!” said Jareth. “You finally found some inspiration in your little hamlet.”

“Yes,” answered Sarah. “It’s funny. After I ran into you… it just started flowing again. My agent was very pleased.”

“As am I,” said Jareth, “though I’m disappointed you didn’t call me when you came to the city.”

Sarah felt her face grow warm and focused her gaze on her teacup. “I-- I was working,” she explained. “I got kind of tuned in and everything else was forgotten. Besides, I figured you were busy… Do you seriously teach? Like real college classes?”

“You’re changing the subject,” Jareh said, setting aside his teacup. “But yes. I really teach. I teach three classes of European Mythology and one of Ancient Music. I have an office on the third floor of the Virginia Woolf Building and a monthly salary which helps pay the bills. I serve on the advisory board for the Medieval Studies Research Centre and I’m the Co-Chair of the LGBTQ Book Guild. I’m also a joint owner of the charming little pub downstairs as well as one in Shoreditch. Anything else?” He sounded annoyed by her incredulity.

Sarah glowered into her cup of tea. “You have got to understand that this is a bit… unreal to me, Jareth,” she told him. “All I’ve ever known of you was what I read in the story and briefly experienced during my run. Seeing you like this, so… so  _ normal  _ is just a bit much for me. It’s like the uber version of when you’re a kid and you see your third grade teacher in shorts and flip-flops at the grocery store on a Saturday.” 

Jareth laughed at that. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose it is a bit much to wrap one’s head around, even someone as imaginative as you.” He stood and regarded her carefully for a moment before speaking again.

“Sarah,” he began, “I’m not usually so… ceremonious when I’m here in my natural habitat. Would you be terribly offended if I made myself more comfortable?”

“Um… no. It’s  _ your  _ house…”

“Thank you,” said Jareth with a little bow. He closed his eyes and waved his hand over his body and his dark slacks and stiff shirt disappeared, replaced by more relaxed khaki pants and a deep gray chenille sweater. His hair, which had been somewhat slicked back from his face, lengthened over his ears, though not fully into the wild mop Sarah had seen him sport in the Underground. The colorful markings over his eyes reappeared and his overall features seem to shift and sharpen. He seemed more angular, Otherworldly.

_ “His ‘normal’ appearance is a glamour, then,”  _ Sarah noted inwardly.

Jareth let out a long sigh and settled back into his armchair. “You have no idea how good that feels,” he said, retrieving his teacup.

“No, I get it,” Sarah told him. “I feel the same way after a long day when I finally get home and take off my-” she started to say “bra”, but thought better of it and said “heels” instead. 

He gave her a knowing smile. “As you can imagine,” he said, “I can’t go out in my usual appearance. Most people might take no notice, especially in the city, but I’d rather not call unwanted attention to myself.”   
  


_ “Could have fooled me, Mr. Painted-on-breeches,”  _ Sarah thought. She recalled that his Underground wardrobe had been more than a little eye-catching, both in fashion and fit.

“You still have magic, then?” she asked him.

He nodded. “Of course,” he answered simply. “It’s not something that exists only Underground. It’s very much a part of who and what I am. I can no more separate myself from it than you can any of your senses. However, I’ve dampened it significantly and make a point to never use it without careful consideration.” 

Sarah moved to the edge of the sofa and leaned toward him. “So, let me get this straight,” she began. “You just walked away from your role as king of the goblins, changed your appearance and squelched your magic in order to live an ordinary life teaching classes to human twenty-somethings?”

“Yes,” answered Jareth.

“Why?” 

He didn’t answer right away and Sarah noticed that he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I would think you would understand, Sarah Williams,” he said at last. “You left  _ your _ home to settle in an unremarkable village, volunteer at a dusty museum and eat dinner alone.”

Sarah felt her face grow hot. “I-- I just needed a change of scenery,” she blurted, annoyed at his presumption. 

“Likewise,” smirked Jareth.

Sarah slid back onto the couch and took a loud slurp of tea. After a few moments of silence she spoke.

“Do you live alone?” she asked, looking around.

“Oh no,” answered Jareth. “I have a flatmate. She’s quite lovely and she adores me. I think you’ll really like her.”

Sarah tensed as he stood. 

_ “Jareth has a live-in?”  _ her brain screamed. She watched as he moved to a large object in the corner of the room and lifted the sheet that covered it, revealing a bamboo pagoda birdcage.

“Hello!” squawked a shiny black bird with a bright red beak and yellow markings around its eyes. “Daddy’s home!”

“Hello, love,” cooed Jareth as he opened the cage and the bird hopped onto his index finger. He turned to Sarah. “Come and meet Peaches, Sarah,” he said.

“Peaches, huh?” Sarah laughed as she stood. “I’ve never seen a Myna in real life before.”

The bird looked up at her and flitted her wings. “Pretty!” she peeped.

“Thanks,” Sarah told the bird. “So are you.” She rubbed a finger over Peaches’ head and she chirped contentedly. 

“She likes you,” Jareth said with a smile.

Sarah shrugged. “I seem to have a natural rapport with birds,” she teased. 

Jareth returned Peaches to her cage but let it uncovered. “Do you have an animal companion?” he asked Sarah.

She smiled, appreciative of the fact that he hadn’t chosen to say “pet.”

“Yes,” she answered. “I have a fat, old tabby cat named Sir Lancelot. He’s a bit grumpy at times, but he’s nice to snuggle with at night.”

“You live alone then.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Yep.”    
  


“Hmm.”

“I-- uh… Would you point me in the direction of your powder room?” Sarah asked, desperate to curtail that particular conversation. 

Jareth pointed down the hall. “Second door on the left,” he said.

Sarah followed his directions, making a point to move hurriedly past the open door of what she assumed was his bedroom. His bathroom was small, but clean. Black and white tile covered the floor in a simple pattern. There was a clawfoot tub at the far end encircled by a plain white shower curtain. An antique mirror hung over the pedestal sink. Sarah examined the open shelves to the side of the mirror: toothpaste, dental floss, nail clippers. She noted that Jareth had a plain, cheap manual toothbrush but a bottle of rather expensive aftershave. 

“Surreal,” she said again, this time out loud as she looked over his assortment of toiletries. She couldn’t imagine the Goblin King shaving, or flossing his teeth or… she glanced at the toilet and shook her head.  _ Not going there.  _

Jareth’s bedroom was unavoidable as she exited the bathroom. The door was wide open and Sarah couldn’t help venturing a peek inside. She was thoroughly surprised by what she saw. As packed as his living space was, his bedroom was just the opposite. A large platform bed stood in the center, covered with a plain gray coverlet and two gray pillows. There were two empty metal side-tables on either side of the bed, a dresser opposite the bed and a large mirrored wardrobe in the corner. The gray walls were empty besides two metal sconces flanking a large black-and-white photo of a nude woman reclining on a narrow strip of sand surrounded by crashing waves. 

_ “Hmm,”  _ she thought.  _ “No gothic four-poster bed with dark curtains and black silk sheets.”  _

She wasn’t sure how or why her mind had always conjured up such imagery for Jareth’s bedroom. She supposed it came from the fact that when she had seen him in the Underground he’d dressed like something right off the front of a romance novel. 

“I don’t really use the bedroom,” Jareth said, causing Sarah to jump. She hadn’t heard him come down the hall, but suddenly he was right beside her. “Not for sleeping anyway,” he added with a grin. 

“Don’t really want to know,” Sarah said, walking past him and back to the lounge. 

“Don’t you?” A smirk.

“No.”

Jareth returned to the lounge and sat down in his armchair, drawing his legs up under him. He watched Sarah as she looked over the prints and trinkets and  _ objets d’art  _ covering his walls. She lightly fingered a gilded fan before turning to him.

“You don’t sleep?” she asked. 

“Oh no,” said Jareth. “I sleep, but not at night, nocturnal as I am. I typically sleep in short spurts throughout the day, usually in here on the sofa.”

Sarah glanced back at the floral sofa where she’d taken her tea. She wasn’t so sure about sitting back down on it now that she knew he slept on it. She would technically be sitting on his bed. 

_ “His bed,”  _ her mind echoed and she swallowed the lump that had jumped into her throat. From his seat in the chair, Jareth seemed to darken, and Sarah’s heart pounded at the thought that he could be reading her thoughts. 

_ “Not that I care about his bed,”  _ she inwardly argued.  _ It’s just the idea…”  _

“Sarah,” called Jareth and she looked back at him, relieved to see that his expression had lightened. “It’s extremely rare that I can completely relax with a human and fully be myself. You know full well what I am and have been, but don’t seem terribly bothered by it.” He paused and took a sip of tea. “I wonder then, if you would mind very much if I asked you to join me for dinner some time.” 

“Are-- are you asking me out on a  _ date _ ?” Sarah squeaked. 

“No, silly girl,” answered Jareth. “I’m asking you to have dinner with me. As friends.” She opened her mouth to protest but he raised a hand to quiet her. “Now, before you argue that we’re not friends, let me say that we  _ could  _ be if you’d humor me and take some time to get to know me.” 

That was fair, Sarah supposed. 

“Fine,” she heard herself say.

“Well, don’t act so enthused, Sarah dear,” Jareth told her with a slight frown, “It’s just dinner and conversation, not a summons for jury duty.”

“Sorry,” Sarah said genuinely. “Dinner sounds nice.”

“Wonderful,” Jareth said.

They were silent for several minutes, listening to the tick of the clocks and Peaches rustling in her cage. 

“I could have handled that jerk downstairs, you know,” Sarah said at last. 

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” chuckled Jareth. “In fact, I intervened more for that fellow’s sake than yours. I’ve seen first-hand what happens when Sarah Williams is cornered.” 

* * *


	5. Queen and Country

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Immortals"- Fall Out Boy, "The Fall"- Imagine Dragons, "Heroes"- David Bowie

_ “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me… for me… for MEEEEEE!” _

The sound of Queen’s  _ Bohemian Rhapsody  _ filled the front gallery of the Roald Dahl Museum as Sarah’s phone buzzed to life. The museum patrons turned to glare at her as she fumbled the phone out of her vest pocket and hit the Answer button.

“Hello?” she said, stepping outside.

“Hello Sarah,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Jareth? Uh, hi. What’s up?”

“I’m calling with the promised dinner invitation,” he answered.

“Oh, ok,” Sarah replied. She had been half-hoping he hadn’t been serious about them having dinner together. Obviously he had been. 

“Are you free this Friday evening?’

“No,” answered Sarah. “I have a thing… a function.” 

“A function? Where, may I ask?”

Sarah swallowed hard. “At church,” she replied.

There was a guffaw followed by a pause followed by, “Oh heavens, you’re not joking.”

“No, Jareth,” she told him. “I’m not joking. And don’t you dare make fun of me for it.”

“Sarah dear, far be it from me to make fun of a person’s faith. After all, it was your faith that brought me to you…”

There was a long pause on the line. Finally Jareth spoke again. “Saturday then?”

“Yes,” said Sarah. “Saturday will be fine.” 

“Lovely,” said Jareth. “Would you mind coming here, Sarah? It would be refreshing to sit and talk to a human being without the confines of a glamour. I know it’s asking a lot, but I’ll make it up to you by cooking you a fantastic dinner.”

Sarah sighed. She could certainly understand Jareth’s need to breathe and relax and just be himself. 

“It’s no trouble, Jareth,” she told him. “I’ll even bring the wine.” 

“You  _ are  _ precious,” he purred. “See you around seven?”

“See you Saturday, Jareth.”

* * *

“How much for the puzzle game?” asked the plump gray-haired lady in front of Sarah’s table. She’d picked up an item from among Sarah’s lot and was closely examining it. 

“Um… two pounds?” offered Sarah. She hadn’t played the game since she was a kid and wasn’t sure why she’d brought it with her when she moved. 

_ “Probably just got mixed up with all my other junk,” _ she thought. 

“I guess I’ll take it,” said the lady, pulling out a crinkled five pound note. Sarah gave the woman her change and the lady picked up the large wooden box containing the labyrinth game and walked away.

“You finally sold something,” said Moira from her table next to Sarah’s. The church rummage sale had been in full swing for two hours and Sarah had only made her first sale.

Sarah waved the bill in front of her face like a fan. “Yes Moira, dear. Gaze upon my vast riches and weep!”

Her friend laughed. “I’m sure the Youth Sunday School will be grateful for your two pounds when they get their new tables.”

“Maybe,” said Sarah. “Or maybe we can get ol’ Clarkston to bless it and see if it’ll multiply like loaves and fish.”

Moira snorted and the sound echoed through the Activities Room of the stone church. “You’re such a wretched sinner, Sarah,” she giggled. 

“You have no idea,” Sarah replied.

“Speaking of sinners,” Moira said, scooting her chair closer to Sarah’s table. “I heard that someone else was caught reading The Book.”

“Oh?” said Sarah, leaning in to her friend. “What saintly mother of Great Missenden has been brought down by pornography this time?”

Moira shook her head and grinned wickedly. “It wasn’t one of the ladies. It was a  _ gentleman _ that had The Book.”

Sarah drew in a dramatic breath and placed her hand over her mouth. “No!” she cried mockingly. “Who?”

“Patrick McGann,” replied Moira.

“Patrick… wait. Isn’t he in seminary?” asked Sarah.

Moira nodded, her eyes alight with secrets. 

“Well?” coaxed Sarah.

“He had it in his dorm room at the seminary. Under his mattress!” Moira blurted. “He wasn’t dismissed, but he’s undergoing disciplinary action. And of course his poor parents are beyond mortified.”

“But it’s just a book,” Sarah said. “I don’t know why it’s causing such a ruckus. You Brits have quite a colorful history of bawdy, sexually-based humor.”

“This is different,” her friend explained. “Sexual humor is just silly. The Book is considered rather dangerous by some because of its serious and graphic depictions of acts that are typically frowned upon by the church at large. The main character is quite promiscuous and she engages in a rather sordid array of sex acts.”

“Why does anyone care? Isn’t sex supposed to be private?”

“That’s part of the argument against The Book,” said Moira. “It’s dragged private matters out into the open and made them  _ entertainment. _ ”

“I guess I don’t understand because I wasn’t raised religious,” Sarah told the other woman. “We went to services on Christmas and Easter and we sometimes had a blessing before a meal, but that was the extent of it. I wasn’t raised to think that sex was something that was dirty or unspeakable.” 

“Well, it’s not exactly that we think that, but most church-goers would rather pretend that sex doesn't exist outside of procreation,” Moira told her.

“And I’ll just bet that half of them are actually dirty freaks who like a ‘rather sordid array of sex acts’,” snickered Sarah. 

“Probably,” Moira agreed. “Ugh, let’s change the subject. Do you want to come for dinner tomorrow?”

Sarah froze. The next day was Saturday. She had a dinner date. With Jareth.

“I can’t,” she told her friend. “I… uh, have to go to London.”

_ “Fuck! You couldn’t think of anything else to say?”  _ screamed her brain to her loose tongue.

Moira raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” she said. “What are you doing in the city?”

Sarah started to lie and tell her friend she was meeting with her agent, but Moira knew Sarah’s agent never scheduled meetings on Saturday. 

“I’m having dinner. With an old friend.”

Moira grinned. “An old friend, eh? The same old friend from the pub? What was his name again? Jared?”

“Jareth,” Sarah corrected. “And yes, we’re having dinner together. But just as friends. He made that abundantly clear.”

She was still a bit ruffled by Jareth’s reaction to her question of him asking her out, though she wasn’t sure why. She certainly had no interest in getting romantically involved with the former leather-loving, baby-napping king of the goblins. 

Moira squealed with delight anyway. “Oh Sarah,” she gushed. “The best relationships always start out as friendships. Brant and I were friends for years before he finally asked me out. After that, it all just fell into place.”

“I’ve already told you, Moira dear, that I am not looking for a relationship, and I’m certainly not looking to get involved with Jareth.”

“Did you buy a new outfit?”

Sarah thought about the brand new red wrap dress that was hanging on her bedroom door, fresh from the boutique next to  _ The Cross Keys.  _

“I… well, I don’t want to look like a total country bumpkin!” she blurted. 

Moira just laughed.

* * *

Sarah’s effort to be presentable did not go unnoticed. Jareth smiled appreciatively at Sarah’s attire as he helped out of her wool peacoat the following evening. The dress was simple and modest, but cut in a way that still flattered her figure.

“Very nice,” he said, placing a kiss on her cheek.

Jareth, of course, looked amazing. His oversized fisherman’s sweater was casual, but he made it look ultra-refined. He’d paired it with slim-fit jeans and a pair of well-made leather loafers. 

“I--uh, brought some wine,” Sarah said, shoving the bottle gracelessly at him. He took it and looked it over, raising his eyebrows at her choice.

“Oh my,” he said. “Well done, Sarah. This will go nicely with dinner.” 

Sarah sniffed the air in his flat, noting a hint of brine and garlic. “What’s cooking?” she asked.

“ _ Linguine alle cozze _ ,” answered Jareth as he led the way to his tiny kitchen. He set the bottle of wine on the counter and stirred something in a saucepan before fishing a corkscrew from a drawer. He deftly removed the cork from the wine bottle and poured them each a glass.

“Linguine with clams?” Sarah asked, accepting the glass of wine from his outstretched hand.

“Close,” he replied. He paused and pressed his glass of wine beneath his nose and inhaled deeply. “Linguine and mussels,” he told her before taking a sip from his glass. 

“Mmm,” he purred. “Heaven.” 

Still holding the glass of wine, he stirred the contents of the saucepan a bit more before tipping a bit of the wine from his glass into it. 

“Enriches the sauce a bit, I find,” he explained.

Sarah blinked her eyes at him. “I’m kind of surprised that you cook, Jareth,” she said. “You don’t need to, do you?”

“I have to eat just as you do, Sarah,” Jareth said.

“No, I mean cook. You don’t have to cook. Can’t you just magick up some food?” Sarah only realized how stupid her question sounded once it had already left her lips.

Jareth just smiled. “I suppose I could just ‘magick up some food” as you say, but I prefer not to. As I’ve told you, I’ve chosen to use magic only after careful consideration.”

“So you’ve never woken up at 2am with a craving for Thai noodles and thought  _ “Fuck this no magic nonsense”  _ and poofed some straight into your bedroom?”

“No,” said Jareth with a chuckle. “For one, I’m usually awake at 2am anyway. Two, there’s an excellent 24-hour noodle shop one street over. And three, I find cooking rather relaxing.”

Sarah glanced over the steaming pots and bubbling saucepan. She couldn’t relate. Karen had been much too fussy to let her into the kitchen to try her hand at cooking. She had taken a few basic cooking lessons and could boil water for tea and make scrambled eggs and not-terrible spaghetti, but that was pretty much it. Most of her dinners were eaten out and she usually took her leftovers home for lunch the next day. 

“Where did you learn to cook, anyway?” she asked Jareth.

“Luca,” he answered, removing a large boiling pot from the stove. He carefully strained out the linguine noodles and deposited them into the saucepan along with a spoonful of the water from the pot. 

“Luca?” echoed Sarah. She watched him expertly stir the noodles through the sauce, coating them completely. 

“Yes, he was the chef at  _ The King’s Pint. _ Italian fellow, taught by a wizened old  _ Nonna _ , no doubt. He made the most amazing Carbonara…” Jareth paused and looked pensive, even sad for a moment before quickly recovering. “Anyway, I asked him to teach me and he did. He was very patient. I was just a few months out of the Underground and unaccustomed to taking orders from anyone. We butted heads more than a few times.”

Jareth paused again and took a long gulp from his wine and Sarah didn’t miss the wistful look that passed over his eyes. 

“It looks like he taught you well,” Sarah said quietly.

“Yes. Yes, he did. He was quite a fellow. I… I hadn’t thought of him in quite some time. Funny, that.”

“You had a special relationship with him?” Sarah ventured.

Jareth nodded slowly. “We were lovers. For a time.”

“Where is he now?”

“He passed away a few years ago.”

“Shit, Jareth. I’m sorry! I wouldn’t have asked…”

Jareth laid a hand over Sarah’s.

“Now now, don’t worry, Sarah dear.” he tutted. “It’s not like that. Luca and I didn’t have any kind of passionate affair. There weren’t any romantic feelings, really. Plenty of lust… Besides, our relationship had been long ended when he passed.”

“Still…” whined Sarah.

Jareth raised a finger to shush her. “I won’t have this exquisite dinner spoiled by ghosts, Sarah dear,” he said. 

Sarah nodded her agreement and Jareth smiled. “Good,” he said. “Now, if you’ll take our glasses to the table, I will ‘magick up’ some truly excellent pasta.” 

Sarah did as she was told and took the wine glasses to the small table just outside the kitchen. Jareth had thankfully removed the stacks of books and sheet music from it and had placed a simple, but pretty Irish linen tablecloth over it. Retrieving the bottle of wine from the counter, Sarah refilled the wine glasses while Jareth heaped plates with pasta and mussels. 

With plates in hand, they retreated to the small table and sat down. Jareth raised his glass to Sarah. 

“To secrets bared and burdens shared,” he said.

“Here, here,” said Sarah as she clinked her glass to his. 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Saints and Sinners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Demons"- Imagine Dragons, "Follow You Down"- Matthew Mayfield, "Nothing for Granted"- Brendan James

“So, how was dinner last night?” Moira whispered under the hum of the church organ as the choir filed into the loft. 

“It was nice,” Sarah whispered back.

“Nice? That’s all you’ve got?” asked her friend, annoyed.

“Yes, for now,” replied Sarah. “Can’t you wait until after the service?”

“No,” Moira admitted. “I want all the sordid details now.”

“There aren’t any sordid details.” Sarah whispered to her friend. “I went to his flat. He made pasta. It was good. Very good. We ate and talked and then I left. That’s it.”

Moira stared back at her. “You’re no fun, Sarah,” she grunted.

“Why? Because I don’t have a saucy, sexy tale to tell?” Sarah retorted. 

Unfortunately, the organ stopped at that moment and her voice echoed across the little church. All the heads in the sanctuary turned to look at her and Sarah flushed bright red. Rev. Clarkston stepped up to the podium and glared at Sarah before clearing his throat. 

“First Corinthians chapter 15 and verse thirty-four,” he announced over the crowd. “ _ Wake up from your drunken stupor, as is right, and do not go on sinning. For some have no knowledge of God. I say this to your shame...”  _

Sarah sat back in her pew as the reverend's voice droned on. She tried to pay attention to what he was saying, but her mind kept going back the evening before. 

Jareth’s pasta had been delicious. In fact, Sarah was almost certain she’d not had better, even at the so-called authentic Italian restaurants in the city. She had eaten a healthy portion and Jareth had seemed pleased with her enthusiastic consumption of his cooking. He’d sent her home with another serving in a plastic container for her lunch the next day. 

“Thanks,” Sarah had told him as he popped the lid onto the container and handed it to her. “This will be nice while I’m working tomorrow.”

“Writing or museum?” Jareth had asked.

“Writing,” Sarah had answered. “My ideas really seem to be flowing now. It’s a big relief.”

“You’re a regular Judy Blume,” Jareth had chuckled and Sarah had almost choked on her wine.

“What?” she’d sputtered and grabbed a napkin to wipe her chin. 

Jareth quirked an eyebrow at her. “Surely you know Judy Blume,” he’d said. “The author of quite a collection of children’s and young adult fiction?”

“I know who Judy Blume is,” Sarah had told him. “Why did you say that about me?”

“Because you also write children’s literature,” Jareth had answered slowly. “Are you quite all right, Sarah?”

Sarah blinked as she registered his meaning. “Children’s literature,” she’d said. “Right, of course. I write children’s books.”

Jareth had drawn in a breath and let the awkward moment pass. “What else do you do in your little hamlet, Sarah?” he had asked.

“Well,” Sarah had said between bites of mussel, “You already know that I volunteer at the museum and I’m involved with the local church…”

“A fact I find fascinating,” Jareth had quipped with a grin. “I never took you for the religious type, Sarah. Not Western religion anyway.”

“Well, it does sometimes clash with my more pagan sensibilities,” she’d admitted. “But the community is centered around it and so I gravitated there too. They’ve accepted me now and it feels nice to fit in.”

Jareth had smiled knowingly, “You mean  _ blend _ in,” he’d remarked. 

Sarah had looked up at him, ready to protest, but the expression on his face was one of complete understanding and commiseration. “Yeah,” she had agreed. “That too.”

The conversation had lightened after that, turning to questions about Sarah’s family and Jareth’s account of leaving the Underground in the hands of Sarah’s trio of friends.

“Hoggle and Ludo and Sir Didymus are ruling over the Goblin Kingdom?” she had squealed.

“They’re aren’t ruling, per se,” answered Jareth. “And it’s the Goblin Republic now,” he added, rolling his eyes. 

Sarah giggled. “I’m sure Hoggle had plenty to say about you going all  _ Wizard of Oz  _ and ditching,” she’d laughed. 

“Hmph,” Jareth had grunted. “I left before the little scab had a chance.” 

“Could I see my friends?” Sarah had asked him. “I saw them just after my run, but never again after that. I knew they were there. I could feel them, but…”

“Your defeat of the Labyrinth closed its doors to you,” Jareth had told her, growing quiet. “For their role in assisting you, your friends were granted a brief passage Above, but nothing more.”

“But what about you? Does that mean you’re stuck here?”

“No,” Jareth had replied, shaking his head. “If I wished to go before the Council and reclaim my throne, I could return to the Underground.”

“But you won’t.”

“No. Those days are over.”

* * *

“Sorry about earlier,” Moira said when the service had ended. “I didn’t mean to push you, Sar. I was just eager to hear what happened.”

“It’s okay,” Sarah said as she took her friend’s arm. “I wish there were more juicy details to tell you…”

_ “You could tell her about the way he tucked his hair behind his ear when he was cooking,”  _ her traitorous brain chimed in. 

_ “Shut up.” _

_ “Or the adorable way he says your name, ‘Sah-rah’.” _

_ “Really shut up.” _

_ “Or that sweet little peck at the front door when you left…” _

_ “Argh!”  _

“Hey, are you okay?” Moira was asking. “You looked a little funny there for a minute.” She had a concerned look on her face.

“I’m fine,” Sarah told her. “And before you ask, yes, I am going to see him again. He’s giving a lecture on the art and imagery of Celtic mythology this Friday.”

Moira pulled a face. “Sounds remarkably boring,” she said. “But if his voice is anything like his looks, I’m pretty sure I’d sit and listen to your friend read from my car’s owners manual.”

* * *

“Are you still coming Friday night, Judy?” Jareth asked over the phone. Ever since their conversation regarding Judy Blume, he’d taken to calling her that. Sarah had responded by dubbing him “Mr. Chips” after the character of Arthur Chipping in the book  _ Goodbye, Mr. Chips. _

“Have no fear, Chips,” Sarah answered. “I even bought a new suit so as not to embarrass you in front of your distinguished colleagues.”

In truth, Sarah had been eyeing the pinstripe in the front window of Fenwick’s for several weeks, but she’d had nowhere to wear it to justify paying the outrageous price for the garment. When Jareth had told her about the lecture, she’d made a special trip to the city to purchase the suit and have it tailored. 

Judging by Jareth’s goggle-eyed expression when she entered the lecture hall, it was well worth the expense. The suit fit her figure perfectly, highlighting her slim waist and long legs. The jacket front plunged at the neckline, though not daringly so. Just enough to hint at the shapely curves beneath it.

“I find myself at a complete lack of words,” Jareth told her, greeting her with a kiss to her cheek. 

“You?” teased Sarah. “That’s probably a first.”

Jareth laughed and offered her his arm and guided her around the room, introducing her to Dr. So-and-so and Distinguished Professor Whatever and Dean of Arts, Dr. Blah-blah-blah. The group of gray old men all looked and sounded the same to Sarah, but she still flashed them her “front cover smile” that her mother had taught her when she was young. 

Jareth stood out like a beacon amongst the sea of gray hair and dark suits with his honey-blonde mane and powder blue sport coat. He’d paired the jacket with a patterned button-down, slate gray tailored pants and expensive-looking black dress shoes. 

Leading her to a seat near the front of the hall, Jareth leaned down to Sarah. “I have to go and be brilliant now, Judy dear. Try not to yawn too much.”

“I’ll do my best, Chips,” Sarah replied. “Try not to be too boring.”

He gave her a little smirk before making his way to the stage. 

His lecture was anything but boring. Jareth spoke eloquently on the vast array of imagery that accompanied Celtic myths and legends and presented a slideshow of art pieces, ancient relics and colorful illuminations that told the story of the old deities and heroes. Sarah was rapt throughout the lecture, as was most of the audience. Jareth finished to generous applause and was immediately swarmed by the crowd. Sarah stood back and waited as he chatted and accepted congratulatory remarks. Finally, the crowd dispersed and he made his way over to where she waited. 

“Sorry about that, love,” he said, pressing a kiss to her jaw.

“Don’t be,” Sarah said with a smile. “You must attend to your adoring fans.”

“Are you one of them?” he asked slyly. The twinkle in his eye made her breath hitch a bit and she tried not to let it show.

“I have to admit,” Sarah said with feigned calm, “Your lecture was incredible. It looked like a lot of research went into it.”

“Oh yes, plenty of research,” Jareth replied. “And plenty of first-hand experience.”

Sarah laughed and leaned into him as they exited the hall. “How did you ever manage to get on as a professor at King’s College?” she asked. “Did you even go to college?”

Jareth wasn’t offended by her question and answered truthfully. “I was highly educated for my station in the Underground,” he told her. “Of course, it was necessary to find suitable employment when I abdicated the throne. I used quite a bit of magic and a dose of charm to create a  _ curriculum vitae _ for myself. My background makes me perfectly qualified to teach, so I didn’t really cheat. Much.”

“So… abracadabra you’re a Ph.d?” 

“Pretty much.”

“I kind of wished we had met up again sooner,” Sarah told him. 

He stopped walking and turned back to her. “Oh?” he said.

“Yes,” replied Sarah. “You could have saved me thousands in student loan debt.”

“Very funny, Judy dear.” 

They grabbed a late supper at a nearby chip shop and then Jareth walked her to the station. He seemed pensive as they strolled, scowling to himself as if carrying on some kind of inner dialogue. Sarah turned to him as they reached the station turnstiles. 

“Thanks for inviting me to your lecture,” she said. “It really was amazing.” 

Jareth said nothing but gave her an intense look, one that was oddly familiar. Sarah’s heart leapt into her throat as she remembered where she had seen that look before. It had been in the crystal ballroom when she had been sure Jareth was going to kiss her. He stepped forward and moved to bend toward her and Sarah went up on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead instead. Before Jareth could react, she swished through the turnstile, stopping only to wave and call out a goodbye to him before turning away and rushing to her train. 

Flopping into a seat, she laid a hand over her chest. Her heart was thundering beneath her fingers. 

_ “Chill out, Sarah,”  _ she told herself.  _ It doesn’t mean anything. And even if it did, would it be so bad to let him kiss you?” _

“Yes,” she said aloud. “It could be very, very bad.” 

At the turnstiles, Jareth watched Sarah’s train lurch out of the station, carrying her back to her small town. He smiled to himself. She could still run from him, but she was old enough for him to pursue now and he had always been fond of the chase. 

“Ready, steady, go,” he purred to the departing train. 

* * *

“You  _ ran away _ ?” squealed Moira as they sat together at  _ The Cross Keys _ .

Sarah put her head in her hands. “I know!” she cried. “I panicked. I wasn’t sure what to do. I mean, I guess I wanted him to kiss me, but then part of me didn’t. I know that sounds ridiculous.”

“Not really,” said her friend. “The two of you have a complex past.”

_ “Understatement of the year,”  _ thought Sarah. 

“He’s a former mentor, someone of importance that you’ve looked up to. You’ve not been on equal footing before. The idea of that kind of role shift can seem daunting,” Moira continued. 

“So, I did the right thing?” Sarah asked, looking up.

“I don’t know, Sar,” said Moira. She took a big draught from her pint. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to deal with this and be honest with yourself about what you want from this man.”

“I don’t know,” groaned Sarah. “I mean, I’m attracted to him and I’m pretty sure he is to me as well. I just don’t want a big, sloppy two-week sex-fest followed by six months of heartbreak and self-loathing.” 

“How do you know that will happen?” asked Moira.

Sarah looked down at her pint. “His type are easily bored,” she answered. She wasn’t a fool. She knew her mythology and she wasn’t enthralled by the idea of taking on a Fae lover only to be cast aside to waste away yearning for the touch of magic. 

“Enjoy what you have right now, then,” said Moira. “Don’t worry so much about six months from now. It there’s one thing I learned from Kieran’s death it’s to make every moment count and take nothing for granted.”

_ “Take nothing for granted.”  _ echoed Sarah’s brain. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Sarah told her friend. “Maybe I should just relax and enjoy it while it lasts.” 

“Oh you should definitely enjoy it, Sar,” Moira said grinning wickedly. “You should enjoy every last  _ inch _ of it.”

* * *

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Kiss and Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Slow Burn"- David Bowie, "For You"- Greg Laswell, "What Would Happen"- Meredith Brooks

Sarah watched Jareth from the doorway of the lecture hall as he taught his 10:30am European Mythology class. He was propped on one arm, leaning slightly back against a desk as he spoke. He wore a smart navy and green argyle sweater with a lighter blue button-down beneath it and brown slacks and he had a pair of tortoise-shell reading glasses perched on his aquiline nose. 

Sarah noticed that the front two rows of the class were entirely made up of female students and that they were hanging on every word he said. She took a deep breath and bit back the sudden surge of jealousy that had risen up in her core. 

When the class finally ended and the students slowly filed out, Sarah entered the room and was perturbed to see a group of co-eds loitering around Jareth’s desk. They giggled and cooed at him and Sarah fought the urge to whack them with the picnic basket she was carrying. 

At last, straightening her back, she surged through the giggling gaggle and approached Jareth.

“Hi,  _ Jareth, _ ” she said, emphasizing her use of his given name. “Are you almost finished? I brought us lunch.”

Jareth beamed. “Judy, darling!” he purred. “I am done and I am famished.” He turned to the co-eds. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies.”

He gathered his leather satchel and took Sarah by the arm and walked to the door. It took all of Sarah’s willpower to not turn around and stick out her tongue at the gaping girls.

They walked outside and down the path toward a green space between buildings. The mid-October sky had darkened considerably and thunder rumbled in the distance.

“I’m afraid you picked a poor day for a picnic, Judy dear,” said Jareth. Seeing Sarah’s disappointed frown he brightened. “But don’t fret. Follow me.”

He led them around the corner to a large alcove with benches and a statue of John Keats sitting under a curved stone awning. 

“Keats won’t mind if we take our  _ al fresco _ lunch here,” Jareth smiled. 

They sat on the bench and Sarah opened the basket and took out the assortment of delicious treats she’d picked up in town: peppered sausage, olive salad, deviled eggs, a block of stinky but delicious cheese, a crusty baguette and a cinnamon and peach parfait. 

“This is lovely, Sarah. Thank you,” Jareth said as he cut off a slice of cheese. 

“I--I’m sorry about ducking out on you the other night. I was tired and a little confused…” Sarah told him. 

“It’s quite all right, Sarah, dear,” Jareth replied. 

“No, it isn’t,” Sarah admitted. “I got the feeling that maybe you… maybe you wanted to kiss me and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

Jareth smiled. “I assure you, Sarah, I  _ did _ want to kiss you.”

“Why?”

“I like you. I can be myself around you. Not to mention the fact that you looked quite delectable in your smart pinstripe suit. Every man in that room wanted you.”

“Okay…” Sarah said, slowly processing his comment. “I just need…”

“Sarah, do you find me attractive?” She looked at him. There was no question. He made her insides delightfully squishy. 

“Yes,” she answered. 

“I obviously find you attractive as well. I think the proper course of action is to explore where this attraction takes us.”

“Well that’s just the thing,” Sarah told him. “I’m not sure I’m ready to do that.” 

“Is there someone else?” 

“No.”

“Is there a religious objection?”

“Hardly.”

“Then what is the issue?”

Sarah paused. What  _ was  _ the issue? “ _ Oh yeah,” _ she remembered, “ _ He’s the fucking Goblin King who stole my baby brother and made me run his hell-maze and tried to mow me down and gave me a roofied peach and danced with me in his lurid masquerade…” _

“Sarah,” said Jareth, “That’s not who I am anymore.” 

Sarah blanched at his apparent reading of her thoughts. “Maybe not,” she said. “But it still makes things complicated.”

“No, Sarah,” Jareth retorted. “ _ You  _ make things complicated. Stop being so bloody scared and open up for once.”

He fished a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it and took a hard drag from it. 

Sarah sat back on the bench and looked at the ground and Jareth sighed, exhaling gray smoke into the air. 

“I forget who I’m talking to sometimes,” he said quietly. “You’re the girl who played make-believe alone in the park and felt forgotten and ignored by her family.”

“I’m not fifteen anymore, Jareth,” Sarah sullenly replied. 

“No, but you’re still playing a role, aren’t you, Sarah?” he asked. “Not that it’s your fault. It’s difficult to be burdened with secrets you can never share. You can try to shove them to the back of your closet and ignore them, but the threat of their discovery is always there.” 

“You sound like you have experience,” said Sarah. 

“We all have secrets, but yes. I understand how you feel,” Jareth answered. “That’s one reason I’d like to spend more time with you. It doesn’t have to be in terms of a romantic relationship if you don’t want that, Sarah.” 

“I didn’t know you smoked,” she said.

Jareth took another long drag before answering. “Only when I’m agitated,” he admitted. “I’m trying to quit.” There was another long pause. “Can we be friends, Sarah?” 

Sarah looked up at him and nodded. “Sure,” she said. “I’d like that.”

* * *

Spending more time together came to mean hanging out, usually in the evenings in each other’s living rooms. On Tuesday afternoons, Jareth came to Great Missenden and he and Sarah had supper at  _ The Cross Keys _ before returning to Sarah’s house to watch a movie or just sit and chat. Sir Lancelot took to Jareth right away and enjoyed curling up in his lap to snooze. While Jareth didn’t mind the attention, he was less than pleased about having his dark slacks covered in orange fur. 

“I’ve brought you a gift,” Sarah said one evening after listening to him complain again about Sir Lancelot’s shedding. She held out a cylindrical object with a handle toward him. 

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a lint roller,” Sarah answered. “If you turn it this way and run it up and down your pants, it’ll remove all the unwanted fur.”

Jareth took the lint roller and smiled, genuinely moved by her thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” he said. He slid the roller over his pants and was pleased when the orange fur was transferred from his pants to the sticky surface of the roller. “Brilliant,” he said. 

* * *

“Tell me about Luca,” Sarah said. It was a Tuesday night in early November and they were in her lounge. Sarah relaxed in her ratty, but comfortable chair and Jareth was draped over the small sofa, smoking a cigarette. He’d given up trying to quit. He leaned back against an embroidered pillow and looked up at the ceiling.

“Luca…” he sighed. “Luca was something. He was the stereotypical Italian pretty boy: dark hair and eyes, olive complexion. He was attractive and he knew it, though not in a conceited way. He was merely confident in his sexual magnetism.”

Jareth paused and took a drag from his cigarette. “My first cooking lesson was an utter fiasco. I threw a rather nasty temper tantrum and stormed out. I thought that would be the end of it. But Luca was… well, tenacious. He came to me later and told me what an utter ass I was and that I was spoiled and disagreeable and a complete waste of his time… and he offered to continue teaching me. I was flabbergasted, to say the least.”

“I’ll bet,” giggled Sarah.

“Anyway, after I solemnly promised to try to behave myself and not throw any more sharp objects, our lessons continued and I kept my word. I was determined to do well. The man had been far more than gracious to me and I wanted to be worthy. I was the model student…”

“How did the two of you… get involved?”

After another puff of his cigarette Jareth answered. “Oh, there was chemistry between us from the beginning,” he said. “We kept things professional for quite a long time though. However, after one particular evening had proven rather tedious and I was cross and covered in marinara, Luca had moved to wipe a smear from my face. But then he leaned in and kissed the sauce off my cheek. Needless to say, the lesson was forgotten and I dragged him upstairs and we fucked each other senseless.” 

“But there weren’t feelings between you?” 

“There were tender feelings, yes, but not the kind where you turn your life upside down and start buying two of everything.” said Jareth. “At least, not on my part.”

“Luca felt more,” Sarah offered. 

“Yes. It was a rather sore spot between us. He wanted things I wasn’t prepared to give him.”

“Like what?”

Jareth turned on the couch to face Sarah. “My secrets,” he told her. “All of them. I couldn’t…”

“You couldn’t tell him about being the magical former king of the goblins.” 

“Among other things,” Jareth remarked cryptically.

“So… how did he die?” Sarah timidly asked.

Jareth grew solemn. “He fell victim to a gang of thugs who felt they were doing the world a favor by ridding it of ‘freaks and queers’. They beat him to a pulp and left him to die in a back alley.”

“Oh god, that’s horrible!’ groaned Sarah. 

“Yes, and I was the one who had to come and identify him,” Jareth told her. “We hadn’t seen each other in over a year, but my number was still listed as his emergency contact.”

Sarah moved from her comfy chair and sat on the floor next to the sofa so that she was eye-level with Jareth.

“I’m sorry you had to experience that, Jareth,” she said. “Whether or not you had feelings for Luca, it must have been very traumatic.

Jareth sighed. “Trauma seems to my lot in life, Judy dear.” 

* * *

On Friday evenings, Sarah closed up the museum and took the train to London. She usually stopped by her favorite wine shop to pick up a nice bottle to go with whatever dinner Jareth was cooking: a delectable Pinot Noir to go with Jareth’s braised lamb, a fine Merlot to pair with the bolognese, a bold Cabernet Sauvignon for the seared tuna with risotto. 

The dinners were exquisite and the company was pleasant. Jareth didn’t have a television, so after the dishes were washed and put away, he and Sarah usually retired back to the lounge to talk. Sometimes, if Jareth had reading or grading to do, he would put some music on his old-fashioned hi-fi, usually jazz or classical, and he and Sarah would sit quietly reading and listening to the music, happy to inhabit the same space without the need for constant chatter. 

Jareth often fell asleep sitting up in his chair, his book or grading in his lap. Sarah would take his books and papers and set them aside, carefully remove his reading glasses and lay them on the side table and cover him with one of the colorful throws from the sofa before letting herself out. On one of these occasions she felt compelled to place a light kiss on his marked brow. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it, and she was more than relieved when he didn’t stir. Still, she did it again the next time she left him. And the next. It became a habit she looked forward to, the brief, sweet moment of her lips against his cool skin. 

On one particular evening as Sarah got ready to lean down and place her ritual kiss on Jareth’s brow he suddenly arched upward and captured her lips with his. The kiss caught her off-guard, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned further into him, relaxing into his embrace as his mouth gently moved over hers. It wasn’t a furious, fiery kiss, but rather a slow, intentional one, but it made Sarah’s body tingle and her nerve-endings sing. When their lips parted, Jareth stared up at her.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” he grinned.

“Have you been faking sleep this whole time?!” Sarah exclaimed with feigned surprise. 

“Only half of the time,” Jareth admitted. 

“I thought we were just friends,” Sarah said, moving away to sit on the sofa. 

Jareth sat up and studied her. “Judy dear,” he said, “I recall asking to be your friend. I never asked to be  _ only  _ that.”

“Oh,” Sarah grunted. 

Jareth sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It’s late, love,” he said. “I have a symposium to set up tomorrow…”

“Right,” said Sarah glumly. “I’m going.”

“I’ll see you later, Judy.”

“Yeah. See ya, Chips.”

* * *

Sarah thought about the kiss on the train-ride home. It had been sweet, but it had also carried an undertone of passion. Jareth’s lips were soft and tasted of wine and tobacco and butter-mints. He hadn’t stuck his tongue down her throat or tried to grope or paw at her. He’d merely draped one arm lightly over her waist as his mouth had explored hers. The thought made Sarah’s insides do a flip-flop. She had liked kissing him. She hadn’t wanted to stop. She wanted to jump off the train and run back to his flat and let him kiss her until she couldn’t think straight. 

_ “What is wrong with you, Sarah?”  _ she asked herself.

Jareth had proven to be more than a gentleman. He listened intently when she spoke and remembered mundane details about what she told him. He often brought her strange and amusing things when he visited: a newspaper clipping about a supposed goblin sighting in the subway station at Earl’s Court, a pressed metal bookmark in the shape of an owl. One evening he’d brought her a prayer candle from a novelty shop. It had Roald Dahl in the guise of a saint emblazoned on it.

“So you can pray to your patron saint for continued inspiration,” he’d told her with a sly grin.

Sarah sighed. There was no use denying it. She and Jareth had crossed over the line of “just friends” and were headed out into deeper and murkier waters. 

She picked up her phone and sent a text.

_ “Sorry I’ve acted like such a weirdo.”  _

She sat back and waited for a response. She didn’t wait long. Her phone buzzed and she looked down at it and smiled.

_ “Lucky for you I have an affinity for weirdos,”  _ read the reply. _ _

_ “It was a nice kiss,”  _ she texted back. 

_ “Yes, quite,”  _ came the response. 

_ “Goodnight, Jareth.” _

_ “Goodnight, Sarah.” _

* * *

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken a bit or artistic license and moved the Keats alcove from the King's College School of Medical Education campus at Guy's to the KCL campus at the Strand.


	8. Drinks and Daggers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Never Get Old"- David Bowie, "Castle on the Hill"- Ed Sheeran, "Mess is Mine"- Vance Joy

“Hey Tobes, what’s up?” 

“Not much,” said the voice on the other end of the line. “Just wanted to call and check on ya.”

“You’re a good brother, Toby,” Sarah said and Toby could hear the smile in her voice.

“Don’t get all sappy on me, Sar. You know I hate that,” her brother told her. 

“Fine. How are Dad and Karen?” asked Sarah.

“Dad’s busy and Mom is annoying. Same as ever… Are-- are you gonna come home for Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t think I’ll make it this year, Tobes. I’ve got a ton of stuff to do…”

“You’ll have Thanksgiving there?” the boy asked.

“Not really,” answered Sarah. “Thanksgiving is an American holiday. I’ll probably do a shift at the museum and then just have a quiet evening in.”

“That sounds lame,” grunted Toby.

“Well, that’s kinda my jam,” joked his sister.

“Ugh, please don’t try to be cool,” he teased. “It’s so pathetic it makes me sad.”

Sarah laughed. “Does Karen know you’re calling long-distance?”

“Nope, better go.”

“Okay, talk to you later, Bro. I love you.”

“Bye, Sarah. Iluffyoutoo.”

“What was that?” teased Sarah.

“I said bye, ya freak.”

“Bye, Tobes.”

* * *

Sarah had just finished locking up the museum and was preparing to walk home when a sleek, black Jaguar 400 Sport roared up and parked next to her. The driver’s side window rolled down and Jareth leaned out toward her. He was wearing a pair of dark Wayfarer sunglasses and had a gray wool scarf knotted around his neck.

“Get in, loser. We’re going on a bender,” he told her. 

Sarah started to protest, but thought better of it. The car and driver were much too enticing. 

She went to the passenger’s side and opened the door and tossed her belongings into the snug space behind the seat. 

“Nice Jag,” she said as she climbed in and fastened her seat belt. 

Jareth punched the gas and the car shot forward onto the main road, spitting dust and gravel up behind the tires.

“Is it yours?” Sarah asked as they sped out of town.

“I borrowed it from a friend,” answered Jareth. “Though I’ve always wanted to own a Jaguar.”

Sarah smiled at the way he said “Jag-yoo-ah”. 

“So, where exactly are we going?” she asked.

“We are going to go get blissfully hammered, Judy dear,” Jareth replied. “I’ve just finished grading three stacks of ghastly exams and I need to raise my blood-alcohol level quite a few points.”

“That bad, huh?” Sarah clutched the door handle to keep from being slung about by Jareth’s handling of the hair-pin turns and sharp curves. 

Jareth groaned. “You wouldn’t believe the number of idiots who think the Morrigan is Arthur Pendragon’s half-sister,” he griped. 

“I suppose it might be easy to get them a little mixed up,” Sarah said.    
  


Jareth turned to her, shocked. “Well, don’t tell either of  _ them  _ that!” he cried.

* * *

Four bars and more shots than either of them bothered to count later, they were at the door of Jareth’s walkup. He was struggling to get his keys out of his coat pocket and into the door and Sarah was not making the task any easier for him. Her arms were around his neck and her lips were at his ear, gently nuzzling and nipping at him.

“Sarah, dear… if you don’t mind. Oohhhh…” he groaned against her as she flicked her tongue over his ear. 

He grabbed her and swung her around until her back was against the door. He leaned in, eyeing her hungrily and Sarah offered her lips up to him. Jareth smiled as the key clicked in the lock and the door swung open causing Sarah to stumble backwards into the lounge. 

“Ass,” she teased, sticking out her tongue. 

“Oh, Judy,” snarled Jareth. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He grasped her by the arms and pulled her roughly to him until she was flush against his chest. 

“Let’s see what that wicked tongue can do,” he rasped before pulling her into a searing kiss. 

Sarah moaned against his open mouth and moved her body against his, grinding against the hardened bulge in his trousers. She wanted to unfasten his pants and release him. She longed to see him, to touch him, but Jareth held her wrists firmly in his grasp. 

The kiss deepened and Jareth walked them slowly across the room until Sarah’s back hit the far wall. He pressed into her, unashamed of his pronounced arousal. The feel of him poking into her thigh set Sarah’s body aflame. She wrenched her arms from his grip and yanked his shirt out of trousers and began to unfasten the buttons, her mouth moving feverishly over his. With the buttons undone, Sarah pushed the shirt off Jareth’s shoulders and placed her hands on his bare chest. The warmth of her fingers on his cool skin jolted Jareth out of his stupor and he pulled away from her.

“Wait, Sarah,” he said gently. “We shouldn’t do this. Not like this, love.”

“But I want to,” Sarah whined and reached for him.

“You only think you want to,” countered Jareth, taking her roving hands in his. “We’re both terribly drunk and horny and that does not make for a good morning.”

“But Jareth…”

“Sarah dear, I don’t want to risk losing your friendship for a fuck neither of us will remember tomorrow. Now, you can stay the night, but you’ll sleep in the bedroom and I’ll sleep on the sofa.” 

Sarah nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder. He was right, she knew. They had come too far to ruin a good thing with a drunken one-night-stand. 

“Good girl,” said Jareth, kissing her forehead. “I’ll find you something to sleep in and leave you to it, okay?”

“Okay,” mumbled Sarah. Her head was foggy and her eyes didn’t want to stay open, but her body was still screaming to be thoroughly fucked by someone who knew how. Jareth led her down the hall to the bedroom and pulled a soft tee-shirt out of his dresser and handed it to her. 

“Get comfortable and get some sleep, Judy dear,” he said. “We’re both likely going to feel like utter shit in the morning.”

“Sweet dreams to you too, Chips,” Sarah sarcastically replied.

Jareth kissed her forehead again and left the room and she stumbled out of her corduroy pants and pulled off her sweater. She slipped Jareth’s tee-shirt over her head, crawled onto his large platform bed and sprawled out across it. She didn’t even bother turning out the light before falling asleep.

Sarah staggered out of Jareth’s bedroom at around eleven the next morning. He was more than a bit startled when she padded into the kitchen in only her underwear and the tee-shirt he’d let her borrow. She plopped down onto a stool by the counter and gazed up blearily at him and he handed her a steaming cup of coffee.

“Thanks,” she said. “Not just for the coffee, but also for being sensible last night. That was a cool move, Chips.”

“Yes, well, my testicles were less-than thrilled by my sensible turn,” Jareth quipped and Sarah snorted into her coffee mug. 

“Still,” Sarah began once she had recovered. “I appreciate that you value my friendship that much. Most guys wouldn’t have stopped.”

“I am not ‘most guys’” said Jareth. “But yes, I value you a great deal, Sarah.” 

They gazed silently at one another for several moments before the tea kettle whistled and Jareth turned away to the stove.

_ “And dammit,”  _ thought Sarah,  _ “I still want you.”  _

* * *

_ _

Even with the thick cover of blue-gray clouds hanging in the November sky, the daylight burned through Sarah’s retinas and made her head throb. She trudged slowly home from the train station with her work bag, purse, and a plastic container of Jareth’s homemade butternut squash ravioli for her dinner. 

_ “Never drinking again,”  _ she inwardly groaned.  _ “Not shots, anyway.” _

Turning onto her street, Sarah noted an unfamiliar car parked in front of her block of row-houses. 

“Someone must have company,” she said aloud. “I hope they’re quiet.”

She wanted nothing more than to take a steaming hot shower and then crawl into bed and stay there for days. She was grateful for Jareth’s noble actions the night before, but it did little to lessen her mortification over her own actions. 

_ “You could have ruined everything,”  _ she chided herself. 

It would have been so easy for her to give in to him. He obviously wanted her. His erection digging into her thigh had proven that. She had wanted him as well. Still wanted him. Her body throbbed and ached and she considered retrieving her trusty old battery-operated friend from her bedside table and finding some relief before her shower. 

Sarah staggered up the path and put the key into the lock, but the door swung open wide before she even turned the knob.

“There you are!” cried a concerned-looking Karen. “We’ve been trying to call you all morning!”

Sarah winced against her stepmother’s shrill voice. 

“Wha--what are you doing here?” she managed to ask at last.

Karen moved aside to let Sarah into the house. “We came to surprise you, silly!” she said. “The landlady let us in. Toby told us what your Thanksgiving plans were and well, I just couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone on what’s supposed to be a family holiday!”

“We?” squeaked Sarah.

“Of course! Robert! Toby! Sarah’s home!” called her stepmother and Sarah clutched at her pounding head.

Toby bounded down the narrow stairs. “Hey sis!” he cried, throwing himself at her. 

He stepped back and looked up at her. “Sarah, you look like shit,” he said. 

“Tobias Williams, what have we said about that kind of language?!” scolded Karen.

“Ugh, whatever. It’s true. Look at her.” He pointed at Sarah and Karen finally slowed down enough to take a good look at her stepdaughter.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed, laying a hand over Sarah’s brow. “Are you ill?”

“No,” mumbled Sarah. “Just had a bit of a late night last night, that’s all. And I’m kind of shocked to see you guys here… without calling first to let me know you were coming.”

Karen missed the bite in the last statement and gushed on about how Sarah’s father had suggested they call ahead to make sure it was okay for them to come, but she had not wanted to spoil the surprise and just knew that Sarah would be thrilled anyway. 

Sarah’s father came in from the garden with a load of wood for the fireplace. “Hey there, Princess,” he said, setting the wood aside and embracing her. “Hope you’re not too put out with us for showing up like this. Your stepmom wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It certainly is that,” Sarah groaned. 

* * *

“My family is here,” Sarah told Jareth later over the phone. She was hiding out in her bathroom while her father and Karen and Toby watched a ridiculous reality show on her television in the lounge.

“Isn’t that a good thing, love?” asked Jareth.

“I suppose,” she answered. “But they didn’t tell me they were coming. They’re planning on staying for Thanksgiving. What am I going to do with them? I know they’ll be expecting the traditional meal, but you know I’m rubbish in the kitchen!”

“Hmm,” Jareth said over the line. “Thanksgiving. That’s the one with all the orange food, correct?”

Sarah had never considered it that way, but she supposed he was right. The usual Thanksgiving fare consisted of things like roasted carrots, candied yams, sweet potato casserole and pumpkin pie. 

“Yes,” she told him.

“Then leave it to me, Judy darling. You entertain your charming family and I’ll take care of dinner.”

“But what will I tell them about you?” Sarah asked.

“Tell them the truth,” said Jareth. “I’m your devilishly handsome friend from London with whom you went on a drunken spree and nearly shagged senseless last night.”

“Not helping, Jareth.” 

“Well then, I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Jareth told her. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Wait. What?” Sarah asked, but he had already hung up. Seconds later the doorbell rang.

“So much for ‘careful consideration,” Sarah muttered to herself as she made a mad dash for the door. 

* * *

  
  
  
  



	9. Kith and Kin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Bullet From a Gun"- The Script, "Bones"- Garrison Starr, "Hold on to Me"- Valerie Broussard

“So, uh… how do you know Sarah?” asked Robert Williams.

Jareth, Sarah, her father and Karen were seated around Sarah’s small dining room table having tea and some ginger nut biscuits Jareth had brought over. Toby sat in the corner, stroking Sir Lancelot and regarding Jareth warily.

“We’ve known each other for quite some time,” Jareth told Sarah’s father. “However, we only recently met up again--”

“Jareth teaches European Mythology at King’s College in London,” Sarah interrupted. “He’s helping me with my second book series.”

“Oh that’s lovely,” chimed in Karen. “All of my makeup clients have been asking when you were going to publish again.”

“Oh! Well, I’m only getting started,” Sarah gushed, alarmed. “It’s still in the very early phases, so please don’t say anything to anyone. You might jinx me.”

Her appeal to Karen’s rather superstitious nature was successful and her stepmother agreed to keep mum. 

“I suppose you’ll move back to the states when your book is finished,” said Karen.

“I-- well, no. I like it here in Great Missenden,” Sarah told her. 

Her stepmom shot her a look of shock. “What?” she exclaimed. “It’s a darling little town, Sarah, but it’s hardly home. Do you even  _ know _ anyone here?”

“Sarah’s quite the community darling,” Jareth piped up. “Everyone here adores her.” 

Sarah smiled appreciatively at him. As hesitant as she’d been about having him around her family, she was truly grateful he had come. He’d shown up on her doorstep looking dapper in a long sable wool coat over a black sweater and black jeans. He wore shiny black boots on his feet and a tan Brixton Hooligan hat on his head. Karen had stared open-mouthed at him as he’d stepped into the living room and Sarah introduced him.

“Of course they do,” remarked Robert. “How could they not love Sarah?” He grinned brightly at his daughter. 

“It’s not that I doubt that,” Karen said to her husband, “I just worry about Sarah living alone in a foreign country.”

“Have no fear, Mrs. Williams,” Jareth replied. “Sarah is well looked after.” He flashed Karen a brilliant smile and she blushed. 

“Yes, of course,” she said.

“Where are you staying during your visit?” asked Jareth as he rose from his chair and began clearing the cups and saucers.

“We’ve booked a room at the Nag’s Head,” Sarah’s father answered. 

“Yes,” said Karen. “We knew Sarah didn’t have room in this tiny little house for all three of us and the inn looked so charming. Like something right out of an episode of  _ Midsomer Murders _ !” 

Sarah rolled her eyes, but breathed a sigh of relief that her family was not going to try to cram all their suitcases and bags into her already cramped house.

“We should probably head back there now,” said Robert. “I’d like to catch a nap before dinner. I’m a bit jet-lagged.”

“You’ll join us for dinner tonight, won’t you?” Karen asked Sarah eagerly. “And you too, of course, Jareth,” she added.

“We’d be delighted,” Jareth replied brightly.

Sarah gave him a look that suggested she was considering punching him in the mouth and he took her hand and squeezed it. 

“I’m sure Sarah will appreciate the opportunity to sit and relax with the people she loves most. She does work so hard…” he purred.

_ “You are so dead,”  _ Sarah’s eyes flashed. He ignored her warning signals.

“We’ll see you all around 7:30 then?” he asked her parents.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” gushed Karen.

Jareth led them to the door. “It was delightful meeting you,” he said as he took Karen’s hand and kissed it. She flushed a deep red. Jareth shook Sarah’s father’s hand and then said goodbye to Toby who only responded with a sideways glance and a grunt. 

“Charming,” said Jareth as the boy followed his parents out the door and down the path to their rental car.

“I suppose that could have gone worse,” said Sarah when they had gone.

“I think they rather like me,” replied Jareth, stretching out on the sofa with his hands behind his head. “It’s a pity they aren’t staying more than a few days.”

He narrowly dodged the throw pillow Sarah chucked at his head.

* * *

Dinner that evening was surprisingly pleasant. Probing questions were kept to a minimum and Sarah was grateful. Her dad asked about the Roald Dahl Museum and Sarah was happy to fill him in on all the wonders of the place. Karen’s eyes glazed over as Sarah and her father chatted about Dahl’s colorful characters and made-up words like  _ Quogwinkle  _ and  _ Squibbling.  _

Jareth excused himself to smoke and Toby followed him outside. 

“I know who you are,” Toby said as they stood shivering next to each other in the cold November night air.

“Of course you do, clever lad that you are,” Jareth replied between puffs of his cigarette.

“Can I see your balls?” 

“What?!” Jareth exclaimed, accidentally inhaling a cloud of smoke. He coughed and hacked and Toby smacked him on the back several times.

“I remember you juggling crystal balls,” the boy said when Jareth stopped coughing. “Can you show me?”

“I’m afraid not,” Jareth answered. “I’d rather not use any magic in such a public space.”

“Oh, right. Of course,” said Toby, obviously disappointed. “Can I have a smoke then?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t remember you having such a stick up your ass.”

“I’m beginning to wish I’d turned you into a goblin.”

“Relax, GK,” said Toby. “I’m just yanking your chain. I do it with Sarah all the time.”

“Hmph,” grunted Jareth.

“You like her, don’t you?” asked Toby.

Jareth looked at the boy and smiled. “Yes, of course. She’s lovely, intelligent--”

“No, I mean you  _ like  _ her.” 

Jareth took a long drag of his cigarette. 

“Are you guys sleeping together?”

After another coughing fit, Jareth frowned at Sarah’s nosy little brother. 

“I hardly think that’s any of your concern,” he chided.

“Chill dude,” Toby said, raising his hands up in surrender. “I don’t mean anything bad in asking, it’s just… well, Sarah has a bit of a reputation as an ice queen, if you know what I mean.”

Jareth understood what he meant, but couldn’t see where such a descriptor applied to Sarah. She’d been more than a little warm the evening before in his flat. He thought about her hot hands on him, yanking at his shirt buttons and splayed across his naked chest…

“She’s a sucker for back rubs,” said Toby, snapping Jareth out of his arousing train of thought.

“What?” he asked.

“If you want to, you know, loosen her up. She likes back rubs,” Toby told him. 

Jareth took a final puff of his cigarette before extinguishing it and tossing it into an ashtray by the door of the inn. 

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked Toby.

The boy shrugged. “I can tell she likes you too. I think she always has. She used to tell me stories about you when I was little. She talked about you like you were some kind of tragic hero. I didn’t understand it then...”

Jareth smiled. “Thank you, Toby,” he said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” the boy blushed. “Name your first kid after me. No, on second thought, don’t. No one should be named Tobias.”

Jareth laughed out loud and followed Toby back into the inn.

* * *

The following day was Thanksgiving and Sarah sent her family off to explore what Karen referred to as the “darling little town” while she and Jareth worked on the meal. It was mostly Jareth doing the actual cooking while Sarah scurried back and forth fetching ingredients from the load of groceries he had brought in from town. 

“I need the baking powder, Judy darling,” said Jareth as he stirred something in a large glass bowl. 

Sarah brought him a container and he looked at it and frowned. 

“This is baking  _ soda _ , not baking powder,” he told her.

“What’s the difference?” she asked. 

Jareth groaned and shook his head. “How on earth have you functioned on your own, Sarah?”

“I function just fine,” Sarah retorted. “I just don’t cook very much. Maybe you could teach me.”

“I do magic, not miracles, love,”

Sarah smacked him with a kitchen towel.

“Thanks for helping me,” she said.

“Yes, well, we couldn’t have your charming family eating cold cereal for Thanksgiving, could we?” he teased and Sarah smacked him again. 

“Your brother remembers me, by the way,” Jareth told her.

“Oh my god!” Sarah cried. “What did he say?”

“Relax, dear,” coaxed Jareth. “He won’t spill our little secret. In fact, I think he ships us.”

“Did you just use the term  _ ship _ ? Correctly?” Sarah asked, moderately stunned.

“Sarah dear, I’m around college kids all day long,” explained Jareth. “I’m familiar with all the slang.” 

“So my brother is in your corner, huh?” Sarah said, giving him a sidelong glance. 

“Yes,” answered Jareth. “I know you had said that he’d changed, but I find that he’s still remarkably charming.”

“Great,” muttered Sarah. 

* * *

Karen oohed and aahed throughout the Thanksgiving meal. She gushed over the perfectly roasted turkey and the savory oyster dressing. She sang the praises of Jareth’s sauteed vegetables and fluffy scratch-made yeast rolls. Sarah had to admit, the meal was impressive.

Jareth had reluctantly used a bit of magic to make the dining area more festive. Sarah’s family had arrived to find the room festooned with twinkling lights and garlands of fall foliage. The table was laid with an elegant white tablecloth and set with matching plates, shining flatware and crystal glasses. Sarah had worried that Karen would excite herself into a fit, but Jareth only smiled at the woman’s generous praise of his handiwork. 

The Williams clan retired back to the inn to rest after dessert and Jareth and Sarah set about cleaning up.

“This was amazing,” said Sarah as she stacked the dinner plates by the sink. “You were amazing. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I can think of one way,” Jareth said darkly. He took her hand and drew her to him.

“Jareth, I--”

“Just a kiss, love.”

“I-- okay…”

He pulled her close and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was soft at first, then grew in intensity. Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him as he fiercely kissed her. She held nothing back, kissing him with equal fervor. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and the blood rushing in her ears, but wanted nothing more than to let Jareth plunder her mouth with his adept tongue. His mouth pulled away from hers for a moment and went to her ear.

“Sarah dear, I want you so badly,” he growled against the shell of her ear and his voice and words produced an immediate reaction between her legs. 

“Let me touch you, love,” he whispered. “Let me please you.”

“Yes,” she whispered back huskily. 

He made some sort of guttural sound and picked her up around her waist and set her on top of the kitchen counter. She was wearing the pretty red wrap dress he liked so much and he hiked up the skirt of the dress over her thighs and parted her legs. Lifting her bum slightly, he peeled off her panties and settled between her legs. He inhaled sharply, taking in her feminine scent before pressing his mouth into the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. 

Sarah gasped at the feel of his mouth on her and arched into him. He gently caressed her sensitive skin before darting his tongue into her wet core. She moaned and gripped his hair as he tasted her. With his fingers, he parted her folds slightly and dipped his tongue into her again. She whimpered above him and dug her fingernails into his skull. 

“Gods, you taste good,” he moaned against her thigh. 

“Oh, Jareth,” she breathed, leaning back on her arms and parting her legs wider. 

He took her in his mouth hungrily, nibbling her flesh and sucking on the bud of nerves that he knew would carry her over the edge. 

She came hard against his mouth, shuddering and moaning his name. Jareth stood and caught her as she fell forward, trembling with her release. He lifted her chin and kissed her mouth and she could taste herself on his lips and tongue. 

“I--I thought I was supposed to be showing you  _ my  _ gratitude,” she panted.

“Oh, but you did,” he purred, nuzzling against the curve of her neck. “I have your gratitude all over my chin.”

Sarah laughed against him. “Happy Thanksgiving, Chips,” she said.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Judy darling.”

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great Missenden was actually a shooting location for several episodes of the British television detective drama "Midsomer Murders."


	10. Angels and Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Any Other World"- Mika, "Demons"- Imagine Dragons, "Follow You Down"- Matthew Mayfield

Moira grunted as she heaved the large crate marked “Hanging of the Greens” down from the shelf in the church attic and shoved it toward Sarah. Sarah set the crate down onto the floor and opened the lid and began pulling out the rumpled greenery. 

“Your family seemed really nice, Sarah,” she said.

“Thanks, I think they liked you too.”

“Your brother was so great with Kevin. Most kids tend to shy away from him.”

Sarah laughed, “Toby can be a real ass sometimes,” she told her friend, “But he has a caring heart. He gravitates toward people who are a bit on the outside.”

Moira joined her at the crate and began fluffing up the wreaths and garlands for the sanctuary. 

Sarah’s family had joined her for the Sunday morning service before flying back to the States, and Moira’s son Kevin had taken a surprising interest in Toby. Toby had been gracious, allowing the older boy to sit next to him at church. He had shown Kevin a new game on his phone and they had taken turns playing. Kevin had been upset when Toby had had to leave, but Toby had promised to visit him the next time he came to see Sarah. 

“How’s Kevin been, by the way?” Sarah asked.

“This time of year is difficult for him,” Moira answered, shaking her head. “I think he feels Kieran’s absence all the more around the Holidays.”

She held up a mangled piece of garland that had seen better days. “I think this one can go,” she said, tossing it into a large bin by the door. She dusted off her hands and sat down cross-legged beside the crate of greenery.

“I’ve never told you what happened, have I?” she asked Sarah.

“No,” Sarah replied. “I mean, I’ve heard bits and pieces from other people. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to…”

“I’d rather you hear the real story from me,” said Moira. “No one around here really knows, since we were living in Birmingham at the time. There was a blurb on the national news because the whole thing was such a mystery...” she paused and seemed to gather herself before continuing. 

“Everything seemed ordinary that day,” she began. “The boys were seven and were out on holiday. Lily was around two at the time. We went to the park and then got ice cream. The boys played. Kieran teased Lily a bit too much and she cried. I think I got a little cross with him. Then we went home. Nothing unusual happened. We had supper and I put the kids to bed. The next day…”

Moira paused again and drew in a deep breath. “The next day I went in to check on the boys. Kieran was cold in his bed and Kevin was unresponsive. He was breathing and blinking and moving, but it was like his brain had just shut down. He wouldn’t speak. I didn’t know what to make of it.”

“According to the coroner, Kieran’s lungs were full of water. Water he said he’d never seen where we lived. Foul, brackish water… It was impossible. And of course, Brant and I fell under suspicion. The cops questioned us mercilessly. They tried to question Kevin, but he was thankfully protected by a Childrens’ Advocate Service since he was technically disabled. The whole ordeal was a nightmare. To lose one child and then the mental faculties of another only to be accused of harming one or both of them.”

Moirs was crying now and she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. 

“We ended up leaving Birmingham and moving here about a year later. We couldn’t stay there anymore. There was such suspicion surrounding what happened. Everyone had the same question, ‘How does a seven-year-old boy drown in his bed?’ But I had no answers, no explanation. To this day I don’t know what happened to my boys.”

Sarah scooted closer to her friend and put her arms around her. “I’m sorry, Moira. It must be so difficult to be left with so many questions.” 

“I truly believe Kevin knows what happened,” the sobbing woman said. “But he hasn’t spoken a word in ten years and I doubt he ever will. Even with the thousands we’ve spent on therapy. Maybe that part was selfish of me. I’ve just always felt that if someone could get through to him, he could tell us happened to his brother and give us some closure.”

“Of course,” soothed Sarah. “It’s only natural to feel that way.”

Moira wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands and gave a half-hearted laugh. “Look at me sitting here blubbering when we’re supposed to be getting things ready for the Most Wonderful Time of the Year. I guess I grieve him more around the Holidays too.”

Sarah could understand. Christmas always made her wistful for home, not the home she had with her father and Karen and Toby, but the warm, idealized one in her fantasies. The one where her mother was still living with them and she stayed home and baked gingerbread cookies and made hot cocoa with marshmallows for Sarah. Where Merlin was still alive and barking at the twinkling Christmas lights. Where her father would come from work at a reasonable hour and watch  _ How the Grinch Stole Christmas  _ with her as many times as she wanted. She had never known that home, but her heart ached for it. 

“ _ Fernweh,”  _ Sarah thought.

“Sorry I’ve made this afternoon into such a sob-fest,” said Moira, noting Sarah’s sudden shift in mood.

“Nah,” replied her friend. “I was just thinking about my family. They drove me nuts while they were here, but I love them.”

“What about Jareth?”

“Jareth,” Sarah said with a lopsided grin. “Jareth and I have definitely moved past the ‘just friends’ thing.” She thought about the rather erotic interlude in the kitchen at Thanksgiving and felt her body growing warm. There had to be some bible rule somewhere about being painfully aroused while in the Lord’s house. 

Moira squealed with delight. “So, when do I finally get to officially meet him?” she asked. 

“I don’t know,” Sarah answered truthfully. “He’s pretty tied up with work stuff right now.”

“I bet you like him ‘tied up’, don’t you?” laughed Moira and Sarah smacked her arm. 

“We haven’t slept together, if that’s what you’re hinting at.” 

“What are you waiting for, Christmas?” 

“No,” Sarah answered. “But on that note, this greenery is pathetic. We simply cannot hang this stuff in the sanctuary.”

Moira shrugged. “It’s what we’ve always used. Clarkston is quite the skinflint when it comes to what he considers ‘frivolous expenses.’ He won’t give approval to buy new wreaths and garlands.”

Sarah thought for a moment. “What if we didn’t need to buy greenery?” she asked. 

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” said her friend.

“Trust me,” said Sarah. “This will be brilliant. Do you have a handsaw?”

“No, but Brant does.”

“Perfect. Bring it and a sled and meet me at the shooting grounds in an hour.”

“Whatever for, Sarah?”

Sarah gave her friend a wicked smile. “Of a truth,” she said in her best Shakespearen voice, “We go to the wood, fair Moira. We shall seek the greenery among the fairies and sprites and bring it hence like the dirty, dirty pagans that we are.”

“Clarkston will have a heart attack,” laughed the other woman. 

“Well then, I’ll mark that off my list for Santa,” Sarah answered.

The good reverend was decidedly unhappy about the two women decorating the church in what he called a “secular fashion.” According to him, plastic wreaths and faux evergreen garlands were far enough removed from paganism to be acceptable. However, their cutting and hanging of actual forest greens had crossed a line, despite how lovely it looked. He would have made Sarah and Moira take them down, but the Ladies’ League had arrived and made such a fuss over the beautiful decor that he had relented and even went so far as to let them believe it had all been  _ his  _ idea. Sarah didn’t bother fighting it. If it meant that all their hard work could stay up, she was fine with Clarkston taking credit. Moira was more bothered about it.

“What a right arse he is, taking credit for your idea!” she fumed. “Thou shalt not lie, indeed. I’ve a mind to call him on it.”

“Leave it, Moira. It’s not worth it,” Sarah told her. “Besides, we know the truth and the church looks beautiful.”

It did look beautiful. Long garlands of fragrant evergreen hung from wall to wall. Wreaths of holly and ivy adorned the heavy wooden doors at the entrance and the ends of each pew. The old organ had been draped with evergreen boughs braided with red ribbon. Tall white candles sat in the stained-glass windows, surrounded by shiny magnolia leaves and pinecones. 

Sarah smiled to herself, happy that her own brand of magic had brought some joy and happiness to the faithful congregation of the little stone church.

* * *

Toby Williams was on a mission. He quietly crept down the basement stairs, careful to avoid the creaky center of the third step. He didn’t even dare turn on the lights, but flicked on his flashlight and swept it around the room. Dusty boxes and sheet-covered furniture littered the path and he deftly stepped over and around them until he reached the large safe at the far end of the basement. 

Holding his flashlight between his teeth, he pulled the crumpled paper he’d found in an unused desk drawer from his pocket and held it under the light. He scanned the numbers again and moved toward the safe. 

Slowly, he turned the dial of the safe in accordance with the numbers on the paper and then pulled on the handle. Nothing happened. The safe remained locked.

“Fuck,” Toby grumbled.

He decided to try again, just in case he’d been off a bit. He turned the dial methodically. As the last number turned into place, he heard the pins click and the door to the safe popped open. 

Elated, Toby swung the door open wide and peered inside. He swept his flashlight over the contents of the safe and groaned. There was no cash. There were no jewels. There didn’t seem to be anything of any value in the metal box at all, just stacks of files and notebooks. He picked up a notebook and flipped through it. The handwriting in it was Sarah’s. He scanned over the pages some more, sensing something strangely familiar about the written lines. Where had he seen those words before?

The answer hit him like a punch to the gut and he dropped the notebook to the floor.

“No fucking way,” he said in disbelief. He retrieved the notebook from the basement floor and then closed the safe. 

“Sarah has a lot of explaining to do,” Toby muttered as he tucked the notebook under his arm and headed back upstairs. 

* * *

_ The young boy was looking at him in utter horror. _

_ “It’s my fault, isn’t it?” he asked, wide-eyed. _

_ “No,” said Jareth. “It’s no one’s fault. It was an accident.” _

_ “But I told him the story,” argued the boy. “He wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t told him the story.” _

_ “You mustn’t think that way. I’ve told you, it was an accident.” _

_ The boy grew hysterical. “It’s my fault,” he mumbled over and over.  _

_ Jareth knelt before the boy and looked him squarely in the eye. “Stop this,” he commanded, but the boy continued muttering the words.  _

_ “I can’t allow you to do this,” Jareth said, angrily rising to his feet. “I-- I’ll make you forget.”  _

_ “My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault…” _

_ Jareth put his hands over his ears as the boy chanted. The words became a teasing sing-song. _

_ “Stop!” screamed Jareth. The chant grew louder and louder. Then the boy’s words changed. _

_ “Your fault. Your fault, Your fault. Your fault…” _

Jareth jolted upright in his chair, spilling his tea and dropping his papers onto the floor. On the sofa, Sarah stared at him, startled. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, moving toward him and laying a hand on his shoulder. He was trembling and agitated. It unnerved her to see him so shaken. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered, out of breath. He bent down to retrieve his papers while Sarah mopped up the spilled tea with a cloth. 

“That must have been some nightmare,” she said.

“Yes,” Jareth answered with a shudder. He wanted to shake the images away, push them back into the depths of his psyche. Forget them. 

Sarah looked at her watch and frowned. “It’s late,” she told him. “I should go. Are you sure you’re ok?”

Jareth was silent. Afraid to speak. Afraid to ask.

“Jareth?”

“Stay,” he whispered at last. “Stay, Sarah. Please.”

* * *

  
  



	11. Ice and Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Undisclosed Desires"- Muse, "I Belong to You"- Haley Reinhart, "Heaven's In Here"- Tin Machine

“It’s snowing,” Sarah said, looking from Jareth’s third story window. “Did you do that?”

Beside her, Jareth shook his head. “No,” he answered, looking down at the street where large, pure white flakes were beginning to cover the sidewalks and the awnings of the buildings. The snow swirled around the lights of the lamp posts, glistening in their glow and scattering over the street below like stardust. Sarah touched a finger to the cold window pane where a few big flakes had fallen and stuck, their crystalline patterns bright white against the backdrop of black sky. 

Jareth leaned toward her and nuzzled against her neck. She smelled like evergreen and candle wax. Sarah turned in to him and kissed the top of his tousled head. He had calmed a bit since his nightmare, but there was still a sense of unease radiating from him. He was still tense, guarded. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she whispered to him.

“Nothing,” he said, his head still on her shoulder. “Nothing is wrong. Now.”

He raised his head and kissed her mouth. Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her cheeks, then her nose, then her eyes. His lips returned to hers, softly brushing over the corners of her mouth before sweeping down and across her jawline. His mouth stopped at her ear. 

“Sarah,” he whispered and she shivered. “Sarah love, come to my bed.”

She gave him a peck on the lips and a sweet smile before answering. “Okay,” she said, taking him by the hand and letting him lead her down the hall. 

Jareth kissed her in the doorway as if asking permission to proceed further and Sarah answered in kind, giving him her unequivocal consent. He pulled her through the door and into the shadowed bedroom. His large platform bed loomed in the middle of the room, unrumpled and beckoning and Sarah wondered how long it had been since Jareth had used it for romantic purposes. How often had Luca laid there tangled with him? Had there been anyone since? Surely there must have been others. Maybe one of those silly co-eds from… 

“Earth to Sarah,” Jareth said quietly at her ear. “Where did you go, love?”

“Sorry,” she said, blushing. “I’m just… I was wondering… How long has it been, Jareth? Since--” She didn’t finish the sentence. 

Jareth smiled, understanding exactly what she was asking. “Oh, I’m a terrible slut,” he answered. “I had a threesome up here just last night.”

“What?!” Sarah cried and he threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh Sarah, love,” he cooed. “Ridiculous, beautiful Sarah. Does it matter?”

“I’m only curious,” she replied. 

He took her hands in his and kissed them. “I’ve not been close to anyone in quite some time,” he told her. “Intimacy is not something I take lightly, at least not as I am now. As the king of the goblins I may have been a bit more  _ generous  _ with my affections, but I was younger and freer then. The Fae aren’t quite so concerned with fidelity and romanticized ideals about relationships. I’ve learned that’s not the case for human mortals.” He paused and smiled.

“Your kind is terribly romantic. You write songs and poems and paint pictures and make movies about the horrors and wonders of Love. And you  _ feel _ it fiercely. It burns so bright inside your bones and flesh I don’t understand how any of you can breath under its flame. It’s what drew me to the Above. I could have gone anywhere, but I chose to be here, living among humanity with its searing, desperate need to love and be loved.”

“There’s a great deal of hate too, Jareth,” Sarah said with a frown. “What happened to Luca--”

“Was a lack of love,” Jareth interrupted. “Don’t give Hate too much credit, Sarah. It’s not a thing on its own. It’s merely the absence of Love and like a starving belly, the gnawing emptiness of a heart without love given or received can make people commit terrible atrocities.”

“I--” Jareth silenced her with a quick kiss.

“No more talk, Sarah,” he said. “We’re going to be lovers. Isn’t that remarkable?”

She laughed. It was remarkable. She, Sarah Williams, was going to be the lover of the former king of the goblins. It was ridiculous and wonderful. 

Jareth pulled her into a sensuous kiss, one that made her heart stop and her brain activity dull into crackling static. His fingers found the buttons of her blouse and made short work of them, opening the garment and pulling it over her shoulders and down her arms. She shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the hardwood floor. 

At her neck, Jareth caressed her skin with his lips. His mouth swept down over her collarbone and onto her shoulder. His hand came up to slide the strap of her bra down and Sarah drew in a sharp breath. His teeth gently nipped at her shoulder before his mouth moved downward. With his nose, Jareth nudged the cup of her bra aside and burrowed his face between the lace material and the heated skin of her breast. His hand left her shoulder to cup beneath her breast while his mouth explored the fleshy mound, kissing and sucking at her nipple. She gasped and arched against him and felt him grow rigid against her hip. 

Insatiable, Jareth yanked off her bra and buried his face between her breasts. He squeezed them with his hands and circled each rosy nipple with his tongue while Sarah sighed and ground her body against him. He was hard and pulsing against her center and the feel of him was driving her to near madness. She unfastened his leather belt before unbuttoning and unzipping his khaki pants. 

Jareth groaned against her breast when her hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and wrapped around his erect shaft.

“Gods, Sarah,” he hissed. He leaned back and closed his eyes as she slid her fingers over his satin skin. “That feels so good.”

“Yes,” said Sarah. He did feel good. Steel and velvet at the same time. She liked the feel of him in her hand and could only imagine how he would feel under her tongue. Between her legs. 

“I need you right now,” Jareth said, jerking away and turning her toward the bed. Sarah sat down on the bed and scooted backward, lying flat on her back under his intense gaze. From the foot of the bed he stared down at her breasts, rising and falling with her heavy breaths. His erection bobbed from the opening of his pants and Sarah finally got a full view of just how well he was endowed. He grinned at her gaping, obviously pleased by her wide-eyed awe. 

With one fluid motion, he removed his pants and underwear and stood over her in only his printed tee-shirt. 

“Do you like what you see?” he asked and Sarah nodded, goggle-eyed.

“Well then, fair’s fair,” he told her, reaching for the ankles of her jeans. He pulled them down her legs and tossed them into a dark corner. Hooking his fingers into the sides of her panties, he slid them off and chucked them away to the same corner her pants had landed in. He yanked his tee-shirt over his head before moving onto the bed. Jareth crawled, hand over hand until he was directly above her, looking down into her eyes.

“Sarah,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Tell me what you want.”

Sarah ran an index finger down the smooth plane of his chest. She brought it back up over his sternum before lightly tracing it around one flat nipple, making him shudder. 

_ Say your right words… _

“I want you to fuck me, Jareth,” she told him. 

He growled and pressed forward and she could feel the heat of him at her inner thigh. 

“Jareth, please,” she begged. 

He smiled above her before bucking his hips and sliding into her center. 

Sarah let out a little strangled cry as he filled her, pulsing and stretching. Her nerve endings surged with an exquisite pleasure-pain when he moved inside her, searing and raw but sinfully satisfying. Her body hummed around him as he thrust in a steadily increasing pace and she felt the tinglings of ecstasy dancing at the base of her spine. 

Jareth picked up the pace, softly grunting as he rocked against her. He grabbed one of her legs and wrapped it around his waist groaning in satisfaction when he sank deeper into her. Sarah raked her fingers down his back, feeling the tell-tale stiffening of his body against hers as bliss beckoned.

“Oh Jareth,” she moaned and gave herself up to the tidal wave of pleasure that washed over her. Above her, Jareth tensed and spasmed. 

“Fuck...!” he cried as he came, shuddering and emptying himself inside her. 

He collapsed on top of her, panting and quivering with his release. Sarah ran her fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead as their blood slowed and their breathing evened out. Jareth finally heaved himself off her and fell in a heap at her side, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Gods, Sarah, that was…” he couldn’t think of an appropriate descriptor.  _ Amazing? Incredible? Magical? _

“Mm-hmm,” Sarah murmured beside him. He propped up on one arm and looked at her. She was magnificent: her face relaxed, eyes closed, skin flushed and dewy, breasts lifting ever so slightly as she breathed. He leaned over her and kissed her lips and she opened her eyes. 

_ My lover… _

She didn’t say it with her tongue, but rather with her eyes and he answered by laying a gentle kiss on each breast. She moved in closer to him, nestling into the space under his propped up arm, feeling drowsy and a bit delirious. His heartbeat was at her ear, the steady thrum a soothing lullaby to her buzzing body and blissed-out brain. She felt his fingers comb through her hair and she closed her eyes. 

When she opened them again later, he was gone. The space beside her was empty and cold, but the light from the hallway told her he had not gone far. She wrapped a rumpled sheet around her naked body and padded out to the lounge. Jareth was seated in his chair, wrapped in a plush red robe, a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. A plate of olive and goat cheese canapes sat beside him on the coffee table. He looked up when she came in.

“Hello, love,” he said, smiling. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

She shook her head and snatched one of the canapes from the plate before sitting down on the sofa. 

“Hungry?” he asked with a sly grin.

“Ravenous,” she replied, her grin just as sly.

“I’ll make us breakfast later,” Jareth said. “Unless you had something else in mind.”

“Maybe,” answered Sarah. She loosened the sheet a bit and stretched out of the sofa. “It’s still dark out. What time is it?”

Jareth squinted up at one of the clocks on the wall. “A bit after three,” he said.

“Come here,” Sarah commanded. 

Jareth smiled and set aside his book and wine and left his chair to sit on the edge of the sofa next to her. Sarah lifted a hand to his cheek and traced the sharp lines of his jaw. 

“Did you want to sleep with me when I was fifteen?” she asked. 

Jareth chuckled and grabbed her hand and kissed her palm, his tongue flicking out over her fate line. “Yes and no,” he answered.

Sarah stared at him with her brow furrowed and he continued.

“You were tempting even then, dear,” he admitted. “In the ballroom, I saw your potential. The woman you would become. You looked quite grown-up in your shining gown, but your eyes… Those were not the eyes of a woman ready for a lover. They were the eyes of a young girl still playing dress-up. Others of my kind might have seen nothing wrong with our pairing, but I knew I couldn’t pursue you as a romantic partner then.”

“But you tried to kiss me.”

He leaned down and kissed her lips. “Yes,” he said, his voice low. “I may have been mindful of your innocence and naivete, but I still wanted to win.” 

“Pity you lost.”

He cocked his head to one side and smiled. “Did I?” he asked. 

“I’m ready to go back to bed,” Sarah told him, matter-of-factly. “Are you coming?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

* * *


	12. Bed and Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Dust to Dust"- The Civil Wars, "Chasing Cars"- Snow Patrol, "Georgia"- Vance Joy

The snow that had fallen the night before froze over in the bitter cold leaving the streets of the city an icy mess. All of London seemed to grind to a halt. There was hardly any vehicle traffic out on the treacherous roads. City transportation ceased until the roads could be cleared. Even foot traffic was minimal. Sarah watched from the bedroom window as a few brave souls slipped and slid over the icy sidewalks, clawing along the walls or crab-walking over the frozen patches. 

“I think we should stay in this morning,” said Jareth as he entered the room carrying two mugs of coffee and a plate of sausage and toast.

“Agreed,” replied Sarah, accepting a mug. 

They moved to the bed and stretched out with their coffee in hand and the plate of breakfast between them. Jareth picked up a piece of savory sausage and wrapped it in the buttered toast. He offered it to Sarah and she ate it from his hand. 

“What should we do today?” he asked, retrieving his own pieces of sausage and toast and popping them into his mouth. 

“Hmmm…” Sarah answered, playfully tapping her jaw with her index finger. 

Jareth shook his head. “Haven’t you had enough yet, Judy darling?”

Sarah looked at him, his rumpled blonde mop, his lean, pale shoulders and ivory chest. He was beyond beautiful, cream and gold with undertones of azure. His lithe body moved with grace, like a dancer, yet with the command and regal bearing a king. 

No, she had definitely  **not** had enough. 

The coffee in the mugs and the sausages on the plate were cold when Jareth and Sarah returned to them. Jareth put everything into the microwave and took advantage of the ninety seconds to kiss Sarah senseless. 

She loved kissing him. Loved the way he tasted of wine and mint with a hint of tobacco. She loved the way his clever tongue swirled around hers. She could imagine him being able to tie a cherry stem in a knot with only his tongue. He kissed her with his whole body, hands caressing, hips slightly swaying, heart beating in tandem with hers. His kiss was intoxicating and she craved it. 

By late afternoon, the snow and ice had melted enough for them to venture out for food. Jareth took her to his favorite sushi restaurant, a tiny hole-in-the-wall place between Soho and Chinatown. They sat at the bar, which only had three seats, and gobbled bite after bite of the chef’s specialties. On the way back to Jareth’s flat they stopped at a funky Chinese novelty shop to look around. Jareth tried to buy her an oversized Lucky Cat for her living room, which she refused, accepting a red fan with black tassels instead. 

Spent and shivering, they returned to Jareth’s apartment and huddled together on the sofa in front of the fireplace. Snuggled warmly against Jareth, Sarah must have briefly dozed because when she awoke night had fallen and Jareth had moved to his chair. She blinked her eyes in the flickering firelight, catching sight of what he was reading, a large green book. The Book. She sat up, startled. 

“Why are you reading  _ that _ ?” she asked him.

He looked up at her over his reading glasses. 

“It’s rather  _ titillating _ ,” he told her. “The story itself is a bit silly, but it’s well-written. The erotic scenes are quite… arousing. Would you like me to read some to you?”

“No thank you,” Sarah said, disgusted.

“Oh come, come, Sarah love,” tutted Jareth. “After everything we’ve done to each other last night and today don’t tell me you’re put off by smut.” 

“I just don’t want you to read it to me,” she told him.

“You might enjoy it, love,” he coaxed. “The heroine reminds me of a sluttier version of you. She’s an adventurous young woman to say the least. Let me read you a passage or two. I think you’ll find it quite the aphrodisiac.”

He flipped a few pages and was just about to read when Sarah lept off the couch and snatched the book from his hands.

“For fuck’s sake, Jareth!” she yelled. “I don’t want you to read to me from this damn book!” She slammed it down hard on the coffee table, making Peaches flutter in her cage, squawking a few curse words. Jareth stared up at Sarah, open-mouthed. 

“Whatever is the matter, love?” he finally managed to say.

“That book,” Sarah spat, pointing an accusing finger at the green cover. “That book ruined my life!”

“How could it have done that?” asked Jareth. “I’ll bet you’ve not even read it.”

“Oh, I’ve read it,” fumed Sarah. “Over and over and…” She collapsed onto the sofa, a sob threatening to rise in her throat. Putting her head in her hands, she sighed, resigned. Jareth would find out eventually anyway. She might as well tell him herself.

“Jareth, that book,” she began. “I-- I wrote it.”

* * *

Jareth was dumbfounded. 

“You wrote  _ Her Majesty’s Jewels _ ?” he asked and Sarah nodded. 

“The erotic sensation on four continents?” she nodded again.

“The best selling book on Amazon for seventy-five weeks?” 

“Yes, Jareth. Geez. It’s a dumb book. Get over it,” Sarah groaned.

A sudden thought crossed Jareth’s mind and he slumped back in his chair. 

“You’re G.K. Ibis!” he cried, pointing a long finger at Sarah. Sarah hid her face in her hands. 

“I’ve been fucking G.K. Ibis and I didn’t even realize it,” Jareth said in awe. 

“Come off it, Jareth!” cried Sarah, wringing her hands. “Please don’t make this into a thing. I shouldn’t have told you. Now it’s going to be a thing.” 

Her look of desperation brought Jareth out of his star-struck trance. He moved forward in his chair and took her clasped hands. 

“Sarah,” he said calmly. “I’m glad you told me, but I won’t make it into a thing. It’s obviously something you have issues with. I don’t understand why. It’s a lovely book that millions of people have enjoyed. But if it bothers you, I won’t even read it anymore.” He picked up the book and moved toward the fireplace.

“Wait!” cried Sarah. “Don’t do that. I-- I would just like to distance myself from the book. That’s all. I mean, I’m fiercely proud of it..”

“As you should be.”

“But, at the same time, I’m really embarrassed by it. It’s very personal. I never dreamed in a million years it would be such a success. When it took off I was mortified! It was like having millions of people reading my dirty sex diary.”

“Is that why you ran away to your little hamlet?” asked Jareth.

Sarah nodded. “I wanted to forget the book. Forget G.K. Ibis. Forget all the clamoring for news and gossip about who could have written it. I just wanted to disappear and be Sarah Williams, Writer of children’s books.”

Jareth moved to the couch and wrapped his arms around Sarah before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Your big bad secret is safe with me, love,” he told her. “Though, I do have a question.”

“What?” asked Sarah.

“The king in the story, your protagonist’s sometimes adversary/sometimes lover… Who was your inspiration for him?”

Sarah looked him squarely in the eye. “Who do you think?” she said.

“Oh Judy,” Jareth said hoarsely. “I really do think we need to revisit your role-playing days.”

* * *

“You weren’t at church this morning,” said Moira over the phone. “Is everything ok?”

“Yes, everything is fine,” Sarah told her friend.

“You’re not ill, are you?”

“No.”

“Where were you then?”

Sarah sighed. “Moira, I stayed in London this weekend,” she admitted.

Moira’s loud squeal made Sarah push her phone away from her ear. Jareth looked up from his reading at the sound of the high-pitched shriek.

“You did it, didn’t you?” Moira laughed. “You and Jareth had sex!”

“Okay, yes,” Sarah mumbled into the phone, her face turning bright red.

Her friend laughed. “Oh, I’m so happy for you, you naughty little slut,” she giggled. “How was he?”

Sarah gave Jareth a sidelong glance. He appeared to be intently reading, but she knew he could very well be listening in on her conversation with his keen, strigine hearing. 

“Fantastic,” Sarah told her friend and she was almost certain Jareth quirked an eyebrow. 

“Of course he was,” gushed Moira. “I knew he had to be. You can’t look like  _ that  _ and not be amazing in the sack.” 

Embarrassed by Moira’s raving, Sarah took her phone into Jareth’s bedroom. “Yes, he was amazing. Better than amazing,” she said, feeling flushed and a bit feverish at the thought of what he’d done to her in his bed. Of what they had done to  _ each other.  _

“You have to let me meet him now, Sar,” Moira insisted.

“Why, so you can jump his bones?” Sarah laughed. 

“I may if you turn your back too long, Sarah Williams,” teased her friend. “Seriously though,” she added. “I want to officially meet the man who has my dear friend skipping church in favor of getting deliciously shagged.”

“If you’re going to say things like that to him I will never introduce you, Moira Dabney,” Sarah teased back.

“Bring him to dinner this week. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Sarah sighed. “Fine. When?” 

“Friday,” said Moira. “I’ll do a Lancashire hotpot. He’s not Vegan, is he?”

“No.” 

“Good. I never know what to feed those people.”

* * *

Jareth looked up as Sarah walked back into the lounge. 

“Is everything all right?” he asked with a slight smirk. 

“That was Moira,” Sarah told him. “She wants us to come to dinner on Friday.”

Jareth smiled. “You’re going to introduce me to your friends?” he asked, looking a bit like an eager young boy. “That’s quite a relationship development.”

“You’ve already met my whole family, Jareth.”

“That was different,” he countered. “That was just to save you from a Thanksgiving kitchen disaster. This is something else entirely. You are actually bringing me along with you to meet the people with whom you live and work.”

Sarah hadn’t thought about that way, but it made sense that he would be flattered by the action. Sarah wasn’t trying to hide him. She was going to take him out and show him off to her friends.

* * *

Sunday evening Sarah reluctantly left Jareth to return to Great Missenden. Moira was waiting for her, eager to hear all the dirty details of her debauched weekend in London. 

“Sarah, you are positively glowing!” her friend cried when she met her at  _ The Cross Keys _ . “He hasn’t knocked you up already, has he?”

For a terrifying millisecond Sarah panicked before she remembered that she’d been on the pill for years. The subject of  _ other _ complications of unprotected sex had come up over the weekend, but Jareth had assured her that there were no known “fairy STDs”. 

“I’m not pregnant, Moira. Keep your voice down. If anyone around here finds out I’ve been fornicating, they’ll run me out of town.” 

“Oh pish-tosh,” said Moira. “Bunch of busy-bodies. They’re all so uptight because of Clarkston. He’s on a rampage.”   
  


“Still?” moaned Sarah.

“Oh, it’s gotten worse,” Moira told her. “He’s convinced that the devil has come to Great Missenden. Just in time for Christmas, no less. He’s been making unexpected housecalls, trying to catch his faithful flock in some manner of sin or other. Yesterday it was Mr. Douthit, reading the betting odds on the Man City and Newcastle match. The day before that he stopped by the Reeves’ house and caught the two daughters watching  _ Twilight  _ and gave them a long lecture on the dangers of the occult.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. Reverend Clarkston would have a field day with Jareth.

“Ugh,” grunted Moira. “I don’t want to talk about Clarkston anymore.” She brightened. “Are you and Jareth still coming for dinner on Friday?”

“Yes,” Sarah told her. “We’ll be there.” 

Moira squealed with delight. “I cannot wait,” she said, hugging Sarah. “I’m dying to meet the man who has made you so deliriously happy.”

“I never said I was deliriously happy,” Sarah laughed.

“Oh Sarah, you didn’t have to,” said her friend. “It’s written all over your face. Your eyes are so alight and your cheeks are flushed and the way you smile…” She paused, staring intently.

“Good heavens, Sarah,” she gasped. “Are you in love with him?”

“What?!” Sarah cried. “I-- I don’t…” 

_ “Oh my god,”  _ she thought.  _ “Am I in love with Jareth?”  _

He made her feel amazing and not just physically. Sure, he did wickedly wonderful things to her body, but he made her feel good in her mind and spirit too. In her soul. 

“I--I think it’s too soon to make that sort of assessment,” she told Moira. 

Moira eyed her curiously. “Well,” she said, “Come Friday night,  _ I’ll _ be doing the assessing. And then we’ll see.”

* * *


	13. Past and Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Scared to Love"- Aron Wright, "1435"- Selfish Things, "Can't Help Falling in Love"- Haley Reinhart

_ “Are you in love with him?” _

Sarah thought about Moira’s question as she walked to work on Thursday morning. Snow had begun to fall again, cold and wet, and she pulled her green wool scarf up over her nose to keep out the biting wind. Jareth had called her that morning to remind her to wear her scarf and her thick boots. He was like a mother hen at times, fussing over her. 

“The weather’s turned nasty again, love,” he’d said. “You don’t want to catch cold and miss our lovely dinner with Moira tomorrow night.”

Sarah smiled under her scarf. He couldn’t have been more excited for his birthday or Christmas. She wondered how many close friends he actually had. He spoke often of acquaintances and colleagues, but he never seemed to spend much time with them outside of work. When he wasn’t teaching or with her, he was at home with his bird and a book. 

Of course, Sarah knew she wasn’t much better off. Aside from Moira and Jareth, she didn’t have many close friends, but then she never really had. She’d always been a bit of a loner, content to live alone in her world of make-believe. 

Sarah stopped at the Post box and drew a big manila envelope from her work bag. Careful not to get it wet in the falling snow, she dropped it into the box with a thunk and continued on to the museum. With certain recent developments and the unexpected visit from her family, it had taken her over a month to finish the skeleton manuscript for her second book. She knew her agent Andy was eagerly waiting to tell the publishers the latest news from their current ratings darling, G.K Ibis. 

Seeing Jareth again had jump-started Sarah’s creativity (among other things, she would often tell herself) and an idea for a brand new, sexy story started forming right away. Of course, with the advent of actually having sex with him, she had found new levels of inspiration and even deeper eroticism. The words flowed easily. 

_ “Having a Muse is not the same thing as being in love,”  _ said her rather jaded mind. Her mother had gone through quite a string of handsome Muses and claimed to be madly in love with all of them, only to leave them broken wrecks a few weeks later. 

“I am  **not ** Linda Williams,” she said aloud as she crossed the street to the museum. 

Jareth called her again that afternoon. “Enjoying the weather?” he asked.

Sarah looked out the window at the steel gray sky and whipping flurries of frost. “It’s lovely,” she groaned. 

Jareth chuckled over the line and his voice made little tingles run down her spine and between her legs. 

“Maybe I can warm you up a bit, love,” he told her. “Imagine we’re on a deserted beach. The sun is baking the sand, but there’s a salty breeze from the sea. You’re on your stomach in a lounge chair and I’m just above you with a bottle of coconut oil and a frozen strawberry daiquiri…” He proceeded to tell her an incredibly naughty story that left her flushed and squirming behind the museum reception desk. 

The foul weather fortunately kept any would-be patrons away and so Sarah and the other museum workers closed up early and hurried home. She changed into her comfy pajamas, heated up some leftovers and poured herself a healthy glass of wine. She had just seated herself in front of her laptop to dash off a few more pages of her manuscript when her doorbell rang. 

Cursing, Sarah yanked her pink robe from the hook on the bathroom door and scurried to the living room. 

“If that’s Clarkston coming to sniff out all my sins I am going to punch him in the nose,” she fumed. She yanked the door open with a scowl and stared down at the man on her front stoop.

Without a word, he grabbed her, pulling her into a searing kiss. Her arms went up and out, searching for a handhold on the doorframe as she was passionately kissed. Pushing her backward from the doorway and into the warmth of the lounge, her attacker finally let her catch her breath. 

“Gods, Sarah,” rasped Jareth. “I’ve been thinking of you for three bloody days and I need you right now.” 

She nodded and took his hand and led him quickly up the narrow stairs.

* * *

They were going to wake the neighbors. The barely muffled grunts and impassioned cries coupled with the banging of the headboard against the shared wall was enough to drive out any doubt of what they were doing. Sarah didn’t care. Her body roared with bliss. Jareth was all over her, under her and inside her. She rocked against his upward thrusting, feeling the bloom of ecstasy threatening to explode in her center. 

She had dreamed of sex like this. She had written sex like this. But she had never hoped to experience this level of sexual gratification. 

“Jareth,” she moaned low and he responded by flipping her over and pounding hard against her. 

_ “That’ll be sore in the morning,”  _ she thought with a wince. She could imagine Moira dissolving into hysterical giggles when she strutted cowboy-style into her living room the next night. Jareth, vain peacock that he was, would no doubt be pleased. 

“Men,” Sarah said aloud just before the tidal wave of pleasure plowed into her, stealing her breath and short-circuiting her brain activity. Jareth followed soon after, bucking and shuddering against her before crumbling to the patterned sheets beside her. 

“Oh Sarah,” he said in a long sigh. He curled in toward her and wrapped himself around her, holding her tightly against his lean frame. She relaxed into him, letting his even breathing lull her into drowsiness. Her last thought was of how funny it was that he snored. Not a deep guttural snort that some men had, but a soft buzz in the back of his throat, like the purr of a cat. 

He woke her again in the darkness, reaching for her, caressing her curves and dips with his nimble fingers. It felt different somehow. Their other sexual encounters had been fiery surges of heat, grasping, pawing and rutting, but this was slow. Deliberate. His hands explored her, not squeezing or groping, but tenderly touching, gently kneading. 

His mouth on hers was soft, searching. He kissed her lips delicately and with purpose. Their bodies moved slowly together, a back-and-forth motion of give and take. When she came it was deep and powerful. Pleasure surged up from the soles of her feet to the ends of her hair. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and her chest heaved against the weight of her emotions and Jareth’s trembling body. He pulsed inside her, shivering as he found his exquisite release. 

Sarah kissed his mouth and realized in one vivid moment of clarity that, yes, she  _ did  _ love him. 

She loved him with every cell of her body, every breath, every thought. She always had. She couldn’t have said at fifteen what the strange emotion was that surged up in her chest and down into her belly the first time he’d cocked that wild head and smiled at her. She might have said it was fear or panic or desperation. But now Sarah was fairly certain that she had fallen in love with him the moment she’d seen him standing shadowed in the doorframe of her parents’ bedroom. 

She’d wanted him then. She’d wanted him in the tunnels and in the ballroom and again in the crumbling castle tower. She’d wanted to say yes, but had known it was impossible. She couldn’t let Toby down, even if it meant turning away from the promises of her dark fairy prince. 

She stroked his cheek and jawline and he nestled against her. 

“I love you, Sarah,” he whispered to her. “I loved you then, with your brave face and noble heart. I knew you wouldn’t,  _ couldn’t  _ say yes, but I asked anyway. I wanted you to know…” 

Sarah silenced him with a quick kiss. “I love you too,” she told him. 

* * *

The buzz of the doorbell made Jareth glance up from his reading. Sarah hadn’t said anything about expecting company when she’d left for work that morning. Sighing, Jareth shooed Sir Lancelot from his lap and went to the door and opened it.

He looked down into the ruddy face of an older gentleman in black. The man’s pale, beady eyes grew wide as he looked him over and Jareth realized he was bare-chested and in only his lounge pants.

“Is Miss Williams here?” asked the man.

“Sarah is at work,” Jareth told him. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The man frowned and tried to glance around him and into Sarah’s living room.

“Are you a relative?” the man asked, his eyes betraying his suspicion. 

“No,” Jareth answered simply and the man’s frown deepened. 

“I’m Reverend Clarkston,” he said, drawing himself up against the imposing figure of the half-naked man before him. “Miss Williams is one of my parishioners. She was not at Sunday service and I’m simply trying to check on her.”

“Oh, Sarah’s perfectly fine,” Jareth told him. “She was in London this past weekend. With me.”

The reverend blanched at Jareth’s admission. “Who are you and what was she doing?”

Jareth gave Clarkston a sly smile. “I’m Jareth. And what do you  _ think  _ she was doing, Reverend?”

Clarkston huffed and looked away. “I’m not the sort to judge,” he muttered.

“Aren’t you?” asked Jareth, cocking his head to one side.

The reverend looked back at him and flared his nostrils. “I’ll be going,” he said, “But tell Miss Williams I stopped by.”

“Most certainly,” Jareth said as he gave a little nod and closed the door. 

* * *

“Well,” said Sarah, “I guess that means I have to move again.”

Jareth laughed. “Nonsense, Sarah. Don’t worry about that ridiculous reverend. He’s a small man in a small town.”

They were walking up the path to Moira’s cottage, Jareth carrying a bottle of wine and Sarah bearing a box of rich fudge for Kevin and Lily. Jareth had taken advantage of the short walk to tell Sarah about the visit from Reverend Clarkston.

“Exactly,” said Sarah. “This is a small church-centered town and that man is basically the mayor. Whatever he says goes and he’s not above bullying and intimidating people.”

“Why do they put up with that? That hardly seems in line with the teachings of your carpenter-prophet.”

Sarah shrugged. “He means well. He truly thinks he’s doing the right thing for the people he’s in charge of.”

“So did Hitler,” Jareth mumbled.

Sarah gave him a little smile before reaching up to press the bell on Moira’s front door. The cobbled cottage that belonged to the Dabneys was small, but charming. It sat at the end of Church Street behind a hedge of boxwood and a rustic stone gate. The inside was cozy and warm, with a large stone fireplace and an assortment of mis-matched but comfortable furniture.

Moira greeted them at the door, cheerfully embracing Sarah and Jareth.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she gushed to him. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

“Likewise,” Jareth replied.

Moira ushered them into the living room which smelled of savory meat and vegetables. 

“Dinner’s ready,” she told them, taking their coats and gloves and scarves. “I’ll go bring the children down. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Moira’s husband, Brant, entered from the kitchen and there were more introductions. Brant showed them into the dining room, a homey room with blue toile wallpaper, a large glass cabinet full of dishes and a rectangular table set with a blue plaid tablecloth. 

They made polite conversation as they settled into their seats:  _ How’s work? What do you do? What are your Christmas plans? Do you like lamb? _

Finally, Moira could be heard shooing the children down the stairs and into the dining room. Lily was the first to bounce into the room, her long red curls bobbing up and down over her shoulders. Her brother followed her, silent and solemn, eyes cast down to the floor.

Sarah heard Jareth gasp at her side and turned just as the boy looked up and across the table. His eyes met Jareth’s and he froze. Sarah watched as the blood drained from his face, his eyes grew wide with terror and he gripped the doorway and emitted a bloodcurdling scream. 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. Black and White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Fade"- Egyptian, "Any Other World"- Mika, "Viva la Vida"- Coldplay

“No, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. We’ll try it again some other time,” Jareth could hear Sarah saying to Moira. Inside the house, Kevin was still screaming, a heartrending guttural scream that pierced the night like a dream-terror. Jareth leaned against a tree and closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound.

Goodnight,” Sarah told Moira at last. “I hope Kevin feels better tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sarah,” answered Moira. “Again, I’m so sorry. I don’t understand what set him off so violently.”

Sarah waved her off and turned to walk down the path. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Jareth braced against the tree. He had reacted almost as acutely to seeing Kevin as the boy had to seeing him. His face had paled to ghostly white and his eyes had flown open in shock. Sarah knew something was wrong and she was determined to get some answers.

“Jareth, what was that all about?” she asked him bluntly.

“I--I don’t know,” he answered in a breathless whisper.

“Bullshit,” spat Sarah. “I’ve never seen Kevin act that. And you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What is going on?”

“I told you,” Jareth tried to argue. “I don’t know why the boy reacted that way, but it’s unnerved me to no end!” He moved away from her but she followed.

“Jareth, I know there’s more to this. What are you not telling me?” she laid a hand gently on his arm and looked up at him, genuinely concerned.

He crumbled. Putting his face in his hands he moaned. “Oh gods. Oh gods, Sarah! I never thought I’d see that boy’s face again!” 

Sarah stepped back, alarmed. “Come with me,” she told him. “We’re going back to my place and you’re going to tell me everything.”

A few minutes later Jareth was seated on Sarah’s sofa with his head in his hands, trembling. Sarah tossed a faded blanket over his shoulders and pressed a cup of tea into his hands. 

“Talk to me, Jareth,” she coaxed. He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes and groaned. 

“I’ve tried to run from this for so long…” he whispered. “I should have known it would catch up to me sooner or later.” 

“What are you talking about?” asked Sarah. 

Jareth leaned back on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. “Ten years ago,” he began. “I was still King of the Goblins. I was disenchanted by the whole thing, but felt it was my duty to remain and rule over the Underground and the-- the Labyrinth. There were few summons those days. Children were already addicted to their devices and video games. They had little use for wishes, selfish or otherwise. But there were two boys, twins. Very close, those two. Like different sides of the same coin. The older was headstrong and defiant, the younger one was gentle and quiet. But they were best playmates and took great delight in each other’s company.”

“Kevin and Keiran?” asked Sarah. 

“Yes,” Jareth replied.

He paused and took a deep breath and Sarah could see his expression visibly darken. 

“Then, a little sister came along,” Jareth continued. “She was sweet, but fussy and her parents doted on her. So much so that the older brother began to feel a bit jealous. The younger one wasn’t so bothered, but the older was angry over his parents’ perceived favoritism toward their new “little princess”. The younger brother made the mistake of telling his older brother about a story he’d read. A story in which a young girl wished her baby brother away to the goblins and the goblins happily took him. The foolish boy made a wish…”

“Keiran wished Lily away?” Sarah asked, shocked. Jareth nodded.

“I was duty-bound to take her. She was a lovely little thing, red hair and bright blue eyes. I gave Keiran the option to win her back. He didn’t seem at all interested in that proposition, but his brother managed to talk some sense into him. He agreed to run.”

“Did Kevin run as well?” asked Sarah.

“No,” answered Jareth. “As the sole wisher, it was Kieran’s duty to win Lily back. Kevin stayed behind. Perhaps I should have let him join his brother. Maybe the boy wouldn’t have been so heedless. So reckless.”

Sarah shook her head, confused. “What happened, Jareth?”

Jareth passed a hand over his face and drew in a deep breath. “There was an accident. I had warned the boy to take the dangers of the Labyrinth seriously. He refused to listen. He plunged in blindly… slipped. Fell. He-- he drowned.”

Sarah gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth. 

Jareth sat up and looked at her with an expression of deep sorrow and pain. “I tried to save him, Sarah. But there was nothing… If he’d only listened to me!” 

Sarah closed her eyes and shook her head. It couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be what happened. She remembered what Moira had said.

_ “There was such suspicion surrounding what happened. Everyone had the same question, ‘How does a seven-year-old boy drown in his bed?’ But I had no answers, no explanation. To this day I don’t know what happened to my boys…” _

“What about Kevin, Jareth?” Sarah said coolly. “What happened to Kevin?”

Jareth shuddered and looked down at the floor. “I brought Lily home. She was fine. Had a lovely time playing with the goblins. I was at a loss as to what to do with the dead boy. I didn’t want him to have simply disappeared into the night. I couldn’t abandon him to the elements. I decided to leave him peacefully in his bed.”

“Oh Jareth,” groaned Sarah. 

“His brother was waiting for us. He wanted to know what happened. I tried to explain. The boy was distraught. He blamed himself for telling him the story. I-- attempted a spell of forgetfulness. To make him forget about the wish. I didn’t want him to live with guilt. He was only seven years old. I…”

“What happened, Jareth?” Sarah asked flatly. Jareth looked at her and saw that her eyes had grown cold. 

“The spell went horribly wrong. Even now I don’t know what happened. The boy’s mind fought me. He was in hysterics and I pushed too hard… It did something to him.”

A sob escaped Sarah’s lips and she began to openly weep.

Jareth reached for her hands. “I never meant for such things to happen,” he cried. 

Sarah pulled her hands away from him. “Isn’t it convenient for you that Kevin can’t talk? Can’t tell anyone what you’ve done,” she snarled.

Jareth stared at her, taken aback by her fury. “Sarah, love, it was an accident. I blame myself for what happened, but it was an accident. Surely you understand that.”

Sarah straightened her back and stood. “I need you to go, Jareth,” she said softly. 

“Why?”

“Because I can’t be with you right now. I need to process all of this. Maybe we’ll talk later, but now I need you to leave.” She motioned toward the door. 

  
  


Jareth shrugged off the blanket and set the cup aside and stood. “Sarah,” he began. “Please understand that I--”

“GO!” shrieked Sarah. Her eyes were full of tears but he could see there was a rising tide of anger there too. He turned away sadly and walked out into the night. 

Sarah fell, boneless, into a chair and wept. 

* * *

_ “Hi, this is Sarah. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you’ll leave your name and number and a brief message, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks!” _

The tone buzzed and a raspy voice spoke over the line.

“Sarah, please,” said Jareth. “Pick up, love. It’s been over a week. I want to talk about this. You have to understand that it was all a horrible accident. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Especially you. Please. Answer the phone and talk to me.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then a sigh. Then he hung up.

Sarah turned in her bed and faced the wall. She  _ wanted _ to talk to him. She wanted to scream at him and stomp her foot and slap his beautiful, stupid face. She also wanted to gather him up in her arms and tell him everything was going to be okay and kiss him until he forgot his own name. She hated herself for being so conflicted. 

“It would be easier if I could just outright hate him,” she said aloud. 

“Things are rarely so black and white, Sar-” 

Sarah sat up and turned to see Moira standing in the doorway of her bedroom holding a brown paper bag.

“I knocked several times and you didn’t answer, so I let myself in,” she told her. She held up the bag. “I brought ice cream.”

Moira moved toward the bed and pulled a carton from the bag and handed it to Sarah along with a spoon. 

“Thanks,” Sarah said with a sniffle.

“You look like you could use some Rocky Road,” said her friend with a small smile. 

“Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?” asked Sarah. She peeled back the cover of the carton of ice cream and scooped up a spoonful and shoved it in her mouth.

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but when’s the last time you took a shower?”

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“Five days then,” Sarah admitted with a wince.

“Do you feel like talking about it yet?” asked Moira. “I mean, everything seemed to be going so well and then the next thing I know, you’re holed up in here looking like the ghost-girl from  _ The Ring.” _

Sarah gulped down another big spoonful of ice cream.

“Did it have anything to do with the thing with Kevin? I still don’t understand why he reacted that way to Jareth.”

Sarah shook her head. “No,” she lied. “Well… it was kind of the catalyst for a conversation where I found out some really difficult things about Jareth.”

“Like what?” Moira asked, leaning in.

Sarah considered telling her friend what Jareth had told her, but decided against it. It wasn’t her secret to reveal, not that her friend would have believed her.

“Let’s just say he was indirectly responsible for someone I care about getting hurt,” she said instead.

“Like how indirectly responsible?” 

“He was there when someone got hurt and tried to make things better but ended up making someone else get hurt in the process.”

“Hmm,” said Moira, pondering. “That’s tricky, Sar. When did all this happen?”

“A long time ago,” she answered.

Moira let out a long sigh. “It sounds to me,” she began, “like the two of you need to talk about this.”

Sarah started to interrupt, but Moira but a finger to her mouth. 

“I know you’re hurt and angry, Sarah, but you can’t tell me you’ve never done something horrible that you immediately wished you could take back.”

_ “What’s said is said.” _

_ “But I didn’t mean it!” _

_ “Didn’t you, now?” _

Sarah flopped back onto her pillow, spoon in hand. Moira was right. She had done the unthinkable before. It was only by sheer dumb luck that she’d been able to make things right.

“Life is too short for unforgiveness, Sarah,” said Moira. “You love Jareth. He loves you. You guys should be making gorgeous blonde-haired green-eyed babies, not quibbling over a mistake that was made years ago.”

“But--”

“But nothing, Sarah,” chided Moira. “Who wins if you stay mad?”

Sarah took another bite of ice cream instead of answering.

“Tell me,” said her friend. “Do you think Jareth is a bad person?”

Sarah shook her head no.

“Has he ever been unkind to you? Ever physically hurt you? Ever even been cross with you?”

Another head shake.

“Then why are you so intent on punishing him for something that happened ages ago, something he’s obviously already beaten himself up over?”

“You don’t understand the full story,” Sarah argued.

“Perhaps not,” Moira said, turning toward the door. “But you and Jareth need to talk. Allow him to explain. Tell him how you feel. Work it out together. Don’t throw it all away for righteous indignation, Sarah.” 

“Thank you, Dr. Phil,” Sarah groaned. 

Moira smiled. “I’ve had to be forgiven of my fair share of atrocities, my friend. And I’ve had to forgive plenty, too. It isn’t easy, and it doesn’t excuse what the other person has done, but it frees you both to move forward. Isn’t that something you would like to do, move past this?

Sarah nodded.

“Then I suggest you get yourself over to London, my friend. After you shower, of course.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~For Edgar~


	15. Salt and Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Gravity"- Sara Bareilles, "The Way We Say Goodbye"- Circa Waves, "Pieces"- Andrew Belle

Sarah grabbed her bag and her keys and walked toward the door. She knew Moira was right about talking to Jareth, but she was still dreading the conversation that awaited her in London. She wanted to give Jareth a chance to explain himself more, though. She had been too hurt and angry during the initial conversation to properly listen. 

She hadn’t told him she was coming. She didn’t want to give him time to try to turn on the charm. She wanted him completely caught off-guard. Much the same way she was when she opened her front door.

“There she is!” a woman cried. More voices followed and Sarah looked out at a crowd of unfamiliar faces. They shoved cameras in her face and pointed microphones toward her mouth, all shouting at once and taking flash after flash of pictures.

“Miss Williams! Miss Williams!” shouted a man with a video camera. “Is it true that you’re actually the author of the best-selling novel,  _ Her Majesty’s Jewels _ ? Are you really G.K. Ibis?”

“Who told you that?” Sarah asked, blinking in the flashing lights. 

“Why have you been writing under that name?” “Why are you living in Great Missenden?” “Is it true you’re working on a follow-up?” “When will you publish again?”

The questions all came at once as the crowd of reporters and photographers surged toward her, clamoring for answers to their questions. 

Sarah whirled around, dizzy in the pressing throng. 

“Leave me the fuck alone!” she cried. 

With near-superhuman strength, she pushed her way through the crowd and took off in a sprint down the street. She didn’t stop running until she reached the heavy wooden doors of the little stone church. She gave a quick glance behind her before ducking through the doorway and into the vestibule. With a loud exhalation, Sarah closed the door behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes. 

Who could have told the press her secret? Very few people knew. Her agent, of course and a handful of people back home in the States. And Jareth. 

_ “He couldn’t have, could he?”  _ Sarah thought, her heart dropping into her stomach. Would he really be so petty?

The silence of the church was broken by the sound of her phone and Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin. She half-expected the call to be from a reporter of journalist looking to dig up the truth about her now exposed double-life. She was relieved to see that it was a call from her parents’ house.

“Sarah?” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Toby? Oh my god, I’m so happy it’s you!” she said, almost in tears.

“Um… well,” her brother began, “You might not feel that way when I tell you why I’m calling…”

* * *

“You did  _ WHAT?”  _ Sarah cried into her phone. 

“I’m sorry!” Toby gushed. “I was trying to impress Christi, a girl I want to go out with. So I told her you wrote that book. And then she told some people. And they told some other people...”

“Fuck, Tobes! How did you even know I wrote it?” Sarah groaned.

“I was looking for some money to buy some video games and I found your old notebooks in the safe in the basement.”

“Shit shit shit!”

“I’m really sorry, Sarah. I know I screwed up…”

Sarah took a deep breath and released it. “It’s ok, kiddo,” she told him. “It was going to come out sooner or later.”

“You’re fucking famous!” Toby snickered. Another thought dawned on him and he gasped. “And you’re probably a fucking gazillionarie too!” he added.

“I’m not broke,” Sarah told him. It was an understatement; her secret bank account in Switzerland was expanding on a regular basis. 

“Can I have a loan?”

“You are in the doghouse for a while, Dude. But don’t worry, there’s a college fund with your name on it.”

“College? Lame!” he moaned and she smiled.

“I have to go now, Tobes, okay? I have a big mess to clean up.”

“Okay,” said her brother. “I really am sorry, Sar.”

Sarah sighed. “Let’s just say we’re even, okay?”

She and Toby said their goodbyes and hung up and Sarah opened the door of the church and peeked out. The street was still lined with press vehicles and she quickly shut the door and moved into the shadows of the sanctuary. As she stepped backwards, she bumped into something, a figure in black.

“Well well, Esmeralda,” said Reverend Clarkston. Sarah whirled around to face him and he glared down at her. “Coming to seek sanctuary, are we? That’s what always happens to people when their sins find them out.”

“I just needed a moment to breathe,” she told the reverend. 

“You’ve not been in services in two weeks, but now that you’re in trouble, you come running here,” he said coldly. 

“What are you talking about?” Sarah snapped. 

Clarkston sneered down his nose at her and begin to circle. “I know all about your dirty little secrets, Miss Williams,” he told her. “I met your  _ lover.”  _ He said it as if it were something distasteful. “And I heard a rather interesting rumor that you’re not just the author of  _ childrens’ _ books.”

“So?” Sarah retorted. 

“So?” echoed the reverend. “Have you no shame, young lady? You come here pretending to be pious, when in truth you are the worst kind of reprobate, a whore, a pornographer and a hypocrite.”

“I don’t have to take this crap from you,” Sarah said and turned toward the door, but Clarkston grabbed her arm and whirled her around before pushing her against one of the heavy wooden pillars. 

“The Almighty does not take these things lightly,” he hissed into her face. “You can find forgiveness if you ask for it humbly. Turn away from your sins, Sarah. All will be forgiven if you repent. Otherwise, I have no choice but to purge your name from our fellowship. Your soul will be damned.”

He leered down at her, his eyes lingering too long on the curve of her breasts, his mouth twisted into a little snarl.

“Where has your lover disappeared to, Sarah?” he sneered. “Did he get you into trouble and then run away back to London? Will we be welcoming another little bastard into our community?” He pressed a sweaty hand to her belly. 

Disgust and anger surged up in Sarah, white-hot and explosive. She wrenched away from him, slashing the side of his face with her fingernails.

“Fuck you!” she cried before bolting out the door. 

* * *

Jareth slowly climbed the rickety stairs to his third-floor flat, his steps heavy. He’d tried to pull himself together enough for his classes, but had ended up leaving early. He was in no mood to lecture on  _ Diarmuid and Grainne.  _

His heart ached and burned in his breast over the thought that he had hurt Sarah. It was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do. Just when it had seemed like his dark past was behind him, it had reared its ugly head and had likely cost him the one person he’d ever really loved. 

He stopped on the staircase and leaned against the wall. Gods, it was all so bloody unfair. Such a stupid mistake. When would he ever be free from its grasp? It had haunted his dreams for a decade. It festered on his soul like an ulcer. He carried the shame and guilt of it burned onto his skin like a prison tattoo.

_ “That’s who I am,”  _ Jareth thought with a humorless chuckle. “ _ I’m fucking Jean Valjean.” _

He pushed himself away from the wall and trudged slowly up the stairs in a state of misery. Reaching the top, he turned to dig his keys from his coat pocket and caught sight of a ragged bundle slumped on the floor beside his door. The bundle looked up as he approached. 

Green eyes rimmed with red circles gazed up into his.

“Can I stay with you?” sniffled Sarah. 

* * *

“Sarah, what happened?” Jareth asked as he helped her up and led her into his flat. 

“Everything,” Sarah groaned. She shuffled into the lounge and plopped listlessly onto the sofa. 

“I’ll make you some tea and then we can talk about it, okay?”

She nodded and Jareth shrugged out of his coat and hustled off to put the kettle on. Closing her eyes, Sarah leaned back against the sofa and thought back over the succession of events that had taken place over the past few hours. 

She’d been on the verge of trying to smooth things over with Jareth when all hell broke loose due to her brother’s reckless tongue and hyperactive teenage libido. She wasn’t angry at Toby. Not really. He was just a kid. And she had done far worse at his age. 

Reverend Clarkston on the other hand, had fully earned her ire. Sarah grew livid at the thought of him touching her and leering at her the way he had. He was supposed to be a religious man, trust-worthy and kind. But he’d shown himself to be vile, manipulative and predatory. She shuddered at the memory of his hands on her wrists and that insinuating caress of her belly. She couldn’t say that he would have forced himself on her, but he’d already proven himself to be a monster, so it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.

“Here we are then,” said Jareth as he breezed into the lounge bearing two steaming cups of tea.

He handed Sarah a cup and then moved to the end of the sofa. Lifting her legs, he sat down on the sofa and then placed her feet in his lap. While Sarah sipped her chamomile, Jareth removed her heavy boots and thick socks and rubbed her heels and ankles. 

“Tell me what happened,” he said, kneading the arch of her left foot. 

“I’ve been outed,” Sarah told him. 

“Oh my,” replied Jareth. “By whom?”

“Toby.”

Jareth stifled a snicker and Sarah kicked at him with her bare foot. “It’s not funny,” she growled.

“No, perhaps not,” said Jareth. “Still, your secret is out. What will you do?”

Sarah took a sip of her tea and sighed. “I don’t know. The reporters have already been to my house. They’re probably all over town now asking everyone I know for dirt on my ‘Secret Identity.’ Clarkston already knows. He…” She paused, not sure she wanted to relate the sordid details of her interaction with the reverend to Jareth.

“What, Sarah?” 

She shook her head, “It’s nothing,” she told him.

“Bollocks, Sarah Williams. Tell me what happened.”

“Clarkston cornered me,” she told him quietly.

“What?” asked Jareth, his nostrils flaring.

“He was really awful. Pretty much said I’m damned to hell for writing my book and for sleeping with you,” Sarah answered. 

“Did he touch you?” Jareth asked. Sarah could hear ice in his voice.

“He-- he grabbed me,” she admitted. “He pushed me against a pillar and threatened to excommunicate me.”

Jareth had heard enough. He moved Sarah’s legs aside and stood. 

“Jareth,” said Sarah, rising to meet his gaze. “Please don’t do anything hasty. He’s a horrible man, but he’s still a reverend and a leader of the church. He’s not worth whatever you’re thinking.” She grabbed his arm and held him. “Please don’t add this to…”

Jareth scowled and pulled away. “My list of sins?” he asked quietly.

“I was going to say ‘your guilt’”, Sarah replied, looking at the floor.

“Yes well, what’s one more stain on my soul if it means that bastard gets what is coming to him?”

They were silent for several moments and the air was thick with the tension of what lay unspoken between them. Finally, without a word, Jareth retrieved his coat, pulled it on and walked out the door. 

Sarah sank down onto the sofa with her heart aching and her stomach twisting into knots. She knew his magic made him capable of anything, and while part of her wanted to see him gallantly rush off to defend her honor, she knew that if Jareth did anything to Clarkston it would be the end of their relationship for good. She couldn’t,  _ wouldn’t  _ love a monster. 

The door opened again just a few minutes later and Jareth walked in carrying two take-away boxes. He stepped into the lounge, shaking the snow off his coat lapel, and set the boxes down on the coffee table. He paused when he saw the look of confusion on Sarah’s face.

“I had a sudden craving for Thai noodles,” he explained. 

A little hiccupy laugh escaped Sarah’s throat and then she burst into tears. 

“Oh Sarah, love,” Jareth said reaching for her and pulling her close. “Darling, don’t cry.”

“I-- I thought… I thought…” she blubbered. 

“Shh, love.” Jareth held her and rocked her back and forth. “You thought I was going to go full Goblin King on that wretched old man, didn’t you?”

Sarah nodded through her tears and Jareth chuckled.

“I assure you, dearest Sarah, that while that horrid man certainly deserves a headlong plunge into the Bog or worse, I am no longer the sort of man who gives into fits of blind anger and temper tantrums.” He pulled back and smiled at her.

“Besides, all these years sitting behind a desk have not been kind to my figure, and I’m afraid my black leather-and-armor ensemble no longer fits the way it once did.”

He smiled at her again and Sarah laughed. 

“In all seriousness though, Sarah,” Jareth told her. “The reverend’s actions must be addressed. I can promise you no violence, but I cannot promise you that no one will get hurt.”

“I understand,” she told him. 

He kissed her forehead. “Your noodles are getting cold.” 

* * *

* * *

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And we're heavy on the Victor Hugo references.


	16. Love and War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Hold on to Me"- Valerie Broussard, "Bound Together"- Kate York, VANYO, "I'll Stand by You"-Pretenders

“Could I have died in the Labyrinth?” Sarah asked. 

Jareth picked up the shampoo bottle and squirted some of its contents into his palm. “The dangers of the Labyrinth were very real,” he told her. “Even for you. Lean your head back, love.”

She did as he instructed and he massaged the shampoo into her long dark hair. “You were a bit foolhardy and overconfident at times, but you took the challenge seriously,” he continued. “At least, for the most part. We’ll forget that little ‘piece of cake’ comment.” 

He pushed her up a bit and slid his long legs around her in the clawfoot tub. Leaning forward, he lathered her hair, running his fingers through the soft tresses. He gently massaged her scalp and she sighed and lay back against his chest in the warm water. 

“You were protected anyway, Sarah.”

“I was?”

“Yes, the Old Girl liked you. She helped you when she could, and sent others your way to help as well. I must admit, it made me a bit jealous.”

Sarah pulled herself up and turned slightly to face him. “Is that why you sent the Cleaners after me?”

Jareth laughed and splashed water on her face. “That, combined with the fact that I had a massive erection and needed to make a hasty exit.”

“Jareth, eww! I was fifteen!” Sarah said, splashing him back.

“As if you weren’t thinking the same thing…” he teased. “I have a very keen sense of smell, Judy darling. I knew you wanted me.”

“Hmph!” Sarah turned around with her back to him, nearly slapping him in the face with her soapy hair. She leaned down and scrubbed his feet and ankles with an oversized purple loofah. 

“Have others died in the Labyrinth?” she asked. "Besides Kieran."

“No,” he told her. “Most give up long before they reach any real dangers. That is, if they choose to run at all.”

“You mean, most wishers don’t even try?”

“Why do you think there were so many goblins?”

Sarah pondered that for a moment. 

“You said Kieran didn’t initially want to run to get Lily back.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Jareth replied. “Kevin convinced him to try to win their sister back.”

“Why did you return Lily, if Kieran lost?”

“There really was no precedent,” explained Jareth. “I felt that the boy’s death nullified the wish. The Fae Council were not so readily convinced. They demanded the girl be handed over and turned into a goblin, which I refused.”

“And?” Sarah asked expectantly.

“And they gave me the choice to surrender either the girl or the throne. I chose the latter, obviously.”

“You gave up the Goblin Kingdom to save Lily?” Sarah gasped.

“You make it sound much more noble that it was, Sarah love,” said Jareth. “I had no desire to go back to it, especially after that horrific night. I certainly did not want to turn the girl over to the Council, but it was also an easy way of escape for me. 

“I’m sorry,” Sarah told him, her voice soft.

Inching forward, Jareth wrapped his arms around her and laid his head against her naked back.

“Sarah,” he said quietly, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

She put her hands over his. “I’m working on it, Jareth. I understand that you were doing your duty to the best of your ability. You made some tough calls. And ultimately, you spared my friend an even greater heartache.”

“Dearest, if I could go back and change it, I would. You friend would never have had to suffer at all.”

“I only wish there were some way for Moira to know what happened,” Sarah sighed.

“You mean you’re not going to tell her?” 

“What would I even say? asked Sarah. “‘Oh, by the way, Moira, if you really want to know what happened to your son, you should ask my boyfriend, the former Goblin King’?”

“I’m your boyfriend?” asked Jareth with a little grin of glee.

“Aren’t you?” Sarah turned around to face him again and kissed him on the nose. 

“Isn’t there anything you can do for them, Jareth?” she asked, scrubbing the loofah in circles over his chest. 

“Perhaps,” answered Jareth after a moment of thought. “But it would require me to speak to Kevin. After his reaction to me the other night, that may prove difficult.”

Sarah smiled. “Maybe not,” she told him. 

Jareth gave her a confused glance and she continued.

“Toby formed a sweet bond with Kevin while he was here. I think he could keep him calm while you talked to him.”

“But your charming brother is in the United States,” argued Jareth.

“I don’t think he’d say no to coming here for Christmas,” Sarah told him. 

Jareth smiled. “Well, this will be a lovely holiday season then, won’t it?”

Sarah leaned forward and kissed his mouth. “Yes. Let’s Frank Capra the hell out of this Christmas.”

* * *

Toby arrived in London the day after school let out for the holidays. Jareth picked him up from the airport in a gorgeous black Jaguar F-Type.

“My Christmas present from your sister,” Jareth said in answer to the boy’s ogling of the vehicle. “She’s filthy rich, you know.”

“Where is the loser anyway?” Toby asked as he climbed into the passenger seat. 

“Press conference,” Jareth answered. “It appears she’s been forced out of hiding due to _ someone’s _ blabbing tongue.” He turned and grinned sardonically at the boy before pressing the gas and roaring out onto the road.

“C’mon, GK,” whined Toby. “I feel bad enough about that already.”

“Did you at least get the girl?” asked Jareth. 

“We’ve been out three times,” Toby answered grinning. “On our last date she let me touch her boobs.”

“Well, it isn’t a Jaguar, but it’s a start,” said Jareth. 

Toby stared at him for a few minutes before bursting into laughter . “I like you, Jareth,” he said grinning boyishly. 

“I like you too, Toby,” Jareth answered with a gentle smile. 

Toby sat back in his seat for a moment and watched the countryside whizzing by as they flew out of London in the sleek sports car. 

“So, when are you going to ask my sister to marry you?”

* * *

The press conference had not been as horrible as Sarah had imagined. In fact, the press seemed to grow bored with her the more she openly answered questions. Her phone, which had been ringing for days, finally stopped (aside from a few panicked calls from Karen who was terrified to have her baby boy travelling out of the country alone.) Sarah had managed to calm her stepmother somewhat, assuring her of the safety of the flight and that Jareth was picking up Toby from the airport. 

There were a few calls from concerned townspeople from Great Missenden, including one from Reverend Clarkston, which Sarah promptly deleted. Moira had tried to call only once, which disappointed Sarah, but she understood. She had wanted to tell her friend the truth earlier, but had been afraid of her judgment, as if Moira would think less of her.

When Moira called again, Sarah pounced on the phone. Jareth and Toby hadn’t arrived from the airport yet and Sarah was left at Jareth’s flat alone with Peaches.

“Sarah?” said Moira. “Hey! Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m glad to hear from you,” Sarah told her friend.

“Well, I figured you were probably a bit covered up…” There was an awkward pause.

“I’m so sorry, Moira,” Sarah gushed. “I should have told you.”

“It’s okay, Sar. I understand why you didn’t and I’m not angry. I’ve just been worried.”

She hesitated and Sarah could sense her trepidation.

“What’s happened?” she asked her friend.

Moira let out a long sigh. “There’s been a lot of talk,” she said. “Clarkston has the whole town in a frenzy over this. Claims we harbored a reprobate among us right under his nose. It’s pathetic.”

“What is that man’s problem?” asked Sarah.

“He’s losing his grip on reality,” Moira told her. “He cornered me the other day at the supermarket and asked me what I knew about Jareth. It was all I could do not to tell him you met him at a Satanism for Beginners class.” 

Sarah wanted to laugh, but was too annoyed at the news of Clarkston’s growing paranoia. 

“Something has to be done,” she told Moira.

“I agree, but what? He’s holding a town meeting this Wednesday to discuss the ‘deplorable lack of morality in Great Missenden’. A few of us had thought to make a stand then, but I’m not sure we can get enough folks backing us. Everyone’s afraid of the reverend.” 

“Let me talk to Jareth when he gets back,” Sarah said. “I’m tired of having to hide out here. I miss my crummy little rowhouse and all my stuff and my cat. Thanks for feeding him, by the way, while I’ve been underground.

“No problem,” said Moira. “Buy me a nice Christmas gift. From Tiffany and Company. I know you’re loaded after all, G.K. Ibis!” she added with a laugh.

* * *

Sarah and Toby did not accompany Jareth to the town meeting that was held at the little stone church. The brother and sister stayed at Sarah’s house to pack up some necessities and to see to Sir Lancelot while Jareth went to the church alone. 

The meeting was already in full swing when he arrived. The gathered crowd turned and looked as Jareth swept through the heavy wooden doors. The reverend glared down at him from the raised pulpit and frowned. 

“You are not a part of this community, so this discussion does not concern you,” Clarkston spat.

“Oh, but it does,” answered Jareth. “It concerns Sarah Williams, and so it very much concerns me.”

“Where is Miss Williams?” sneered the reverend. 

“That’s none of _ your _ concern,” said Jareth, glancing around at the crowd. “If any of you _ were _ actually concerned about Sarah, you might have bothered to see about her rather than gathering in your pious cliques to gossip about her.”

“Hmph!” grunted the reverend. “The good people of this town have nothing to be ashamed of. Miss Williams, on the other hand, betrayed us all with her hypocrisy and double-life.”

“What double-life?” asked Jareth with a laugh. “She wrote a book. Why do care so much about it?”

Clarkston’s face grew red with anger. “It’s not just a book,” he spat. “It’s filth! Pornography!”

Jareth furrowed his brow and walked toward the front of the church. “I seem to recall,” he began, “Another book that contains a rather colorful cast of reprobates: Whores-turned-heroines, adulterous warrior-kings, incestuous prophets…” He reached down and picked up a Bible from a pew.

“And then, of course, there’s a whole book of naughty love letters between the Wise King and his dark-skinned mistress.” Jareth leafed through the filmy pages until he reached the Song of Solomon. He cleared his throat and began to read to the gathered crowd.

“_ How beautiful and pleasant you are, O loved one, with all your delights! Your stature is like a palm tree, and your breasts are like its clusters. I say I will climb the palm tree and lay hold of its fruit. Oh may your breasts be like the cluster of the vine, and the scent of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine.” _

There was a titter around the little church as the people reacted to what he had read. From the pulpit, Clarkston seethed.

“The devil can quote Scripture for his purpose,” he hissed.

“But wait, there’s more,” said Jareth. He flipped back a few pages. 

_ “As an apple tree among the trees of the forest, so is my beloved among the young men. With great delight I sat in his shadow, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.” _

Jareth closed the book and smiled up at Clarkston. “Is it just me, or does that passage read as if wise King Solomon is getting fellatio?”

“How. _ Dare. _You.” Clarkston was shaking with rage. “You have misrepresented those passages!”

“You’re much more the biblical scholar than I, dear Reverend,” Jareth stated calmly. “But it seems clear to me that your God is a proponent of physical love and sexual pleasure.”

“But not pornography!” thundered the reverend, pounding his fist hard on the pulpit. 

Jareth railed on him. “Tell me,” he growled. “Which sin is worse, writing a book about the physical pleasures between two lovers, or assaulting an innocent young woman in this very sanctuary?”

The room grew silent and Clarkston visibly paled. 

“Do you deny it, Reverend? Remember, you’re in church,” Jareth challenged.

The reverend looked trapped; his eyes darted back and forth over the crowd.

“There was a confrontation,” he admitted at last. “I was, perhaps, a bit overzealous in my approach--”

“You backed her into a corner and threatened her,” Jareth said with ice in his voice. “You put your hands on her.”

There was a collective gasp from the crowd and Clarkston shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he argued. “We were both furious. I was trying to gain control of the situation. She was in a fit and scratched me across my face.” 

He pointed to the faint red marks beneath his eye and Jareth gave a dark chuckle. 

“You must have a higher power looking out for you, Reverend, if you cornered Sarah Williams and came away with only a few scratches.”

Clarkston scurried down from his raised pulpit and stood before Jareth. 

“You must believe me,” he pleaded in a whisper. “It was simply a misunderstanding. I meant Miss Williams no harm. I certainly had no intention of… taking advantage of her.”

“No, of course you didn’t,” tutted Jareth. He leaned in close to the sweating, beady-eyed reverend and whispered into his ear. “Because if you _ had, _ nothing would have stopped me from ** _killing _ **you.”

He smiled and turned and walked out of the little stone church, leaving the ashen-faced reverend standing, gaping, in a puddle of his own piss.

* * *

  
  



	17. Wishes and Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "You'll Be Okay"- A Great Big World, "Fall On Me"- Andrea Bocelli/Matteo Bocelli, "How You'll Be Remembered"- Aron Wright

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”

Reverend Meyers smiled down at the congregation from the raised pulpit. The light from the clusters of candles cast a halo around his fiery red head and danced in his merry green eyes.

“At this beautiful time of joy and happiness,” he continued, “It is especially important for us to be kind. Be kind to the less fortunate. Be kind to your families. Be kind to travelers and strangers. Be kind to those who may have even been unkind to you. Show love and forgiveness and peace and goodwill to all people. Amen.”

“Amen,” echoed Sarah and the rest of the congregation of the little stone church. The organ music swelled in a rousing chorus of “Angels We Have Heard on High” as everyone stood and began gathering coats and gloves and bags and preparing to file out into the frigid December air. 

Moira made her way across the sanctuary to where Sarah and her brother waited. 

“Wasn’t that a lovely service?” she asked. 

Sarah nodded. “Reverend Meyers is quite a change from ol’ Clarkston,” she remarked.

“I’ll say,” agreed her friend. “It was nice to have a happy message of hope and peace rather than one of doom and gloom and eternal judgment. Especially here at the holidays!”

She shook her head. “Didn’t take that old goat long to clear out once  _ his  _ sins came to light.”

Sarah smiled. “Thanks for standing up for me,” she said. “Without you and Jareth, I don’t think anyone else would have had the nerve to stand against Clarkston.”

It was Moira’s turn to smile. “I only wish we’d done it sooner, Sar. Where is your adorable Jareth anyway?” She looked around the sanctuary trying to catch a glimpse of him.

“Church isn’t really his thing,” said Sarah. “He’s at my house decorating and making dinner.”

Moira gave a little swooning sigh and Sarah rolled her eyes.

“I’m telling you Sarah,” Moira said with a playful nudge, “If you don’t marry him…” 

“Gross,” muttered Toby, who had been staring at his phone.

“Hey Tobes,” Sarah began, “Didn’t you have something you wanted to ask Moira?”

“Huh? Oh yeah!” Toby gushed. “Could Kevin come over tomorrow afternoon? I have some new games we could play.”

Moira looked uncertain. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure how he would react…”

“Moira,” said Sarah. “If you are hoping for me to marry Jareth, Kevin is going to have to get used to being around him, right? Besides, Toby can serve as a buffer. Kevin likes and trusts him and I think he might do better with Jareth if Toby eased him into it.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right,” Moira told her. “I certainly don’t want to have to stay away from my favorite couple because of poor Kev’s freakouts. Especially when you guys start having adorable angel-haired babies--”

Toby made a gagging sound and Sarah elbowed him in the ribs.

“Okay,” said Moira. “I’ll bring Kevin over tomorrow evening. But if things get out of hand--”

“We’ll call you,” Sarah promised. She followed her friend down the aisle to the vestibule, where Reverend Meyers was greeting his parishioners. 

“Miss Williams,” he said extending his hand. “I want to sincerely thank you for your very generous gift to the Missions Fund. It is greatly appreciated.”

Sarah blushed. “You’re welcome,” she told him. “I’m just glad to be able to help.”

Reverend Meyers smiled warmly. “Please tell Jareth that I really enjoyed the spice cake and shortbread cookies he sent over. They were delicious!”

“I’ll tell him,” Sarah said brightly. 

Moira gave her a knowing look and Sarah shook her head. She knew her friend wasn’t going to be satisfied until she had a ring on her finger and a baby in her belly. 

* * *

Toby took Kevin’s hand and led him to the front door. The older boy quailed and tried to hide behind him, already sensing who was inside Sarah’s house.

“Kev, it’s okay man,” soothed Toby. “I know you’re afraid, but I promise you that it’s okay.”

Kevin looked up at him, uncertain. Toby put a hand on his shoulder.

“You trust me, right?” he asked. Kevin shook his head. “Okay then, listen.” Toby leaned in close and looked Kevin squarely in the eyes. “I know bad things happened between you and Jareth. But he wants to help you. He won’t hurt you or anyone else. I promise. Let him talk to you, okay?”

Kevin swallowed hard, but nodded his consent and Toby took his hand once more. He led him into the house where Sarah and Jareth waited. The boy visibly trembled when he saw Jareth, but he didn’t scream or throw a fit. He held tightly to Toby’s hand as Jareth stood and cautiously walked toward him as if approaching a wounded wild animal.

“Hello Kevin,” Jareth said gently. “Thank you so much for coming. I would like to talk to you, if you would allow me. Would you do that, Kevin?”

Kevin looked back at Toby who nodded reassuringly. Looking back at Jareth, the boy gave a quick head nod. 

“Thank you, Kevin,” Jareth said with a smile and a relieved sigh. 

Sarah left Jareth and Toby and Kevin in the lounge and excused herself upstairs to work on her manuscript. She could hear muffled voices downstairs and was pleased that things seemed calm and peaceful. Jareth had explained his plan to her, and while she didn’t understand the mechanics of it, she trusted that he knew what he was doing. He had assured her that Toby’s presence would make sure that Kevin remained calm and that the enchantment wouldn’t harm him.

“I can’t  _ fix _ him,” he’d told her. “But I can help him deliver a message to his mother.”

When Moira arrived a few hours later to collect her son, she was surprised and delighted to see him seated next to Jareth, eating gingerbread cookies and helping Jareth cheat at a game of Whist. 

“How?” she breathed, watching her son easily react with the man he’d so violently recoiled from only a few weeks prior.

Toby smiled up at her from his seat beside his sister. “What can I say? I’m the Kevin Whisperer!”

Moira laughed and hugged him and gave him a noisy kiss on the cheek which he scrubbed at with the back of his hand. 

“Thank you, Toby,” she said. “I know your sister says that you’re an ass, but I think you’re charming.”

“Hey!” Toby cried, nudging Sarah in the ribs.

“Kevin, are you ready to go?” asked Moira. “It’s Christmas Eve and we have family coming in for dinner tonight.”

“Which reminds me,” said Jareth. He stood and walked over to the Christmas tree he’d brought in and decorated with twinkling lights and glittering ornaments. “We have some gifts for you and your family,” he told her, handing her a stack of brightly colored packages.

“Oh my, thank you!” replied Moira. “I have things for all of you too, but I’ll have to bring them by later. You’ll be here in the morning?”

“Yes,” said Sarah. “We’re having a simple family Christmas tomorrow. We’re going to open presents and watch movies and eat all day. Jareth’s cooking what he calls a ‘Traditional British Christmas Feast.’ I’m not sure what all that entails, but I’m guessing there will be a Figgy Pudding in there somewhere.”

“Sounds nice,” Moira laughed. “Don’t you miss your parents though, Toby? You’re away from them at Christmas…”

“Oh yes,” Toby answered, the sarcasm evident in his voice. “I am heartbroken over missing out on Dad’s awful eggnog and the family photo session in our matching Christmas pajamas.”

‘It’s giving Dad and Karen some time too,” added Sarah. “They’re celebrating in the Poconos.”

“I’d just better not get a little sister for my birthday next September,” Toby grumbled and they all laughed.

* * *

Moira frowned at the robin’s-egg-blue box in her hands. 

“Oh Sarah,” she said aloud. “I was only joking about the whole ‘Tiffany and Company’ thing.” She untied the white bow and slipped the ribbon off the box and removed the lid.

She gasped as she peered into the box. There, on a pillow of bright blue satin, sat a perfectly round crystal orb. Moira lifted it gingerly out of the box and examined it. It looked clear and slightly iridescent at first, but on closer inspection, she saw that it was clouded with swirls of glitter and prismatic bands of color. 

Kevin shuffled into the room and smiled at the gift.

“Did you know about this?” his mother asked. 

He nodded his head and motioned for her to follow him. She did and he led her into her bedroom. Carefully taking the shining crystal from her, Kevin placed it on a little table next to his mother’s side of the bed.

“Don’t you think it should go up on a shelf?” asked Moira. 

Kevin shook his head emphatically.

“Okay then,” Moira said. She kissed her son on the forehead and smiled. “Come help me get dinner ready.”

Kevin nodded and followed her toward the door. He turned in the doorway and looked back at the bedside table where the shining crystal gave a glimmering wink. Kevin grinned and turned away. 

* * *

_ “Where am I?” asked Moira. She had thought she was alone under the blazing orange sky, but suddenly there was a presence near her. A warm, familiar presence. She looked behind her and saw Kevin leaned against a leafless tree with a large clock suspended from its bare branches. The clock had thirteen hours. _

_ “Hi Mom,” said Kevin. He pushed away from the tree and walked to her. His eyes were clear and focused and he wore a gentle smile. “You’re Underground,” he told her. _

_ “Am I dead?” asked Moira. _

_ Kevin threw back his head and laughed. “No mom,” he reassured her. “You’re not dead. Just dreaming.” _

_ “I’ve never had a dream like this,” his mother told him. “It feels very real.” _

_ “It’s a special dream,” Kevin replied. “That’s why I’m here. I want to talk to you and tell you things, but I can’t outside of this dream.” _

_ “I don’t understand,” _

_ “You don’t have to understand, Mom. Just listen.” _

_ His mother nodded and he stepped forward and offered her his hand. It felt small in hers, like a little boy’s hand.  _

_ “Like when you were seven…” _

_ Kevin smiled. “I want to try to tell you about Kieran,” he said and Moira gasped hearing him speak his brother’s name.  _

_ “I can’t tell you everything,” he continued. “You wouldn’t understand and you probably wouldn’t believe me. Just know that Kieran died trying to save Lily.” _

_ “Why?” asked Moira. “What happened to Lily to put her in danger?” _

_ Kevin lowered his head and looked at the ground. “My brother did something foolish, something he came to regret. Lily was going to be lost forever, but Kieran made the decision to go in after her. He saved her, but he lost his own life.” _

_ “How?” Moira said, now sobbing. “What happened? Please tell me more.” _

_ Kevin put a hand on his mother’s shaking shoulder. “Okay,” he said. _

_ He told her about his brother’s wish and the goblins, but he left out the Goblin King, saying only that the goblins had taken Lily away. He showed her the sprawling Labyrinth and told her how Kieran had agreed to run it to win his sister back. He took her to the place it had all gone wrong, a place where loose rocks and a heedless boy had collided in tragedy. His mother wept over the spot.  _

_ “How did he get back to his bed?” Moira asked her son through her tears. _

_ Kevin paused, searching for the right words. “The King,” he said at last. “The King of this land returned both Kieran and Lily. He was very upset that such a thing happened. There were others who would have kept Lily, but the King protected her.” _

_ He paused again, seeing his mother’s deepening frown. _

_ “You don’t believe me, do you, Mom?”  _

_ Moira shrugged. “I’ve prayed for the truth for so long,” she told him. “If you tell me this is the answer to my prayers, I’ll believe you, Kevin.” _

_ “It’s the truth, Mom,” he answered. “I know it’s difficult to understand and accept, but this is what I’ve held inside for ten years.” _

_ Moira choked back a sob. “Why? What happened to you that night?” she asked. “You shut down. I felt like I lost you too.” _

_ Kevin sighed and squeezed his mother’s hand. “I lost part of myself when I lost my brother,” he told her truthfully. “Part of me that I’ll never get back. But I’m still here, deep inside. I can’t always express what I think and feel, but I understand the things  _ ** _you_ ** _ feel. I know you’ve been burdened with the unanswered questions. I hope I have eased that burden somewhat.” _

_ “Yes,” Moira said with a sniffle and a little smile. “I don’t fully understand, but I don’t have to. What you’ve told me is enough. I’ve only ever wanted to know what happened and now I do.” _

_ “I’m sorry, Mom,” Kevin said softly. “I’m sorry about the story and Kieran and all those years of silence.” _

_ Moira clasped her son to her breast and squeezed him tight. “Kevin,” she said. “My darling boy, don’t be sorry. You’re not to blame. No one is.” _

_ “You’re not to blame either, Mom,” said her son. “I know you’ve carried guilt as well. Guilt over not knowing, not being able to help him or me.” _

_ He brushed a tear from his mother’s cheek. “I love you, Mom,” he told her.  _

_ “I love you too, Kevin.” _

* * *

Light was pouring through the frosted window panes when Moira opened her eyes. She sat up in bed and brushed a hand over her cheeks. They were damp with tears. 

“Kevin,” she sighed. 

Pulling on her robe and sliding into her fuzzy slippers, she crept from the bedroom and down the hall and pushed open the door to her son’s room. He was still sleeping, his long body sprawled out across his bed, arms and legs at angles. Moira went to his bedside and kissed his forehead. A sweet smile spread over his face, but his eyes remained closed. She turned to leave, but stopped in her tracks at the sound of a soft mumble from his lips. Whirling around, she saw that he still slept, but she knew she had heard him speak in the same voice from her dream. Just one word. 

“Mom.”

* * *


	18. Mr and Mrs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Power Over Me"- Dermot Kennedy, "The Book of Love,"- Gavin James, "Grow Old with Me"- Tom Odell

The ringing of the doorbell was almost unheard over the noise of Mariah Carey belting out _ All I Want for Christmas Is You _combined with the whirring of whatever Jareth had pureeing in the blender. 

“Merry Christmas!” cried Moira when Toby answered the door. She hugged him warmly and handed him an assortment of wrapped presents and gift bags.

“Where’s your sister?” she asked. 

“Upstairs in the shower,” Toby told her. 

“Is that the delightful Moira I hear?” asked Jareth, peeking into the lounge from the kitchen. 

“Merry Christmas, Jareth!” she said. “I’ve come bearing gifts.”

“Sarah will be down in a bit,” Jareth told her. “In the meantime, come and see what you think of my cranberry sauce.”

Moira went to the kitchen where Jareth was busily preparing enough food to feed several small villages. A turkey was roasting in the oven, and the scent of rosemary hinted at a savory dressing. Potatoes were cut up and tossed into a pan with goose fat and fresh herbs, ready for roasting. Moira smiled to see a colander full of freshly washed Brussels sprouts. A Christmas pudding sat cooling on the counter. 

“Setting the hook, are we?” Moira said slyly.

“Beg pardon?” said Jareth, peeking under a lid at something bubbling in a pot. 

“There’s an old saying that says ‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,’” said Moira. “I suppose it works on either gender.”

Jareth smiled. “I just want to do Christmas right,” he said. “After all, it’s our first one together.”

“So you’re not going to pop the question?”

Jareth chuckled and kissed her on the cheek. “Oh Moira,” he sighed. “Sweet, meddlesome Moira.”

She started to say something, but Sarah breezed into the kitchen at that moment wearing a red and green striped t-shirt and lounge pants with Christmas penguins on them, her hair still wet.

“Merry Christmas, Moira dear!” she said warmly.

Moira returned the greeting, hugging her friend.

“I ought to be angry with you,” she said, stepping back and frowning. “Your gift was too much. You know I was just joking with the remark about Tiffany and Company.”

Sarah laughed. “Relax,” she told her. “Only the box was from Tiffany’s. We… em, made the crystal.”

“What?” asked Moira. “It’s so perfect and beautiful. How did you make it?”

“Magic,” answered Jareth with a wink. 

“It’s a dream crystal,” Sarah told her friend. “You put it near your bed and it’s supposed to give you pleasant dreams.”

“Oh…” Moira said, the connection forming in her mind. Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought about the dream she’d had the night before.

“What is it?” asked Sarah, seeing her tears.

“Nothing,” answered Moira with a laugh. “It’s just that… well, the crystal works. I had an amazing dream last night.”

“Yes?” asked Sarah, stealing a glance at Jareth.

“Yes,” her friend continued. “In the dream Kevin was finally able to tell me what happened to Kieran. It was quite a story and some day when we’re all drunk enough I’ll tell you, but strangely enough, I believe it. I believe what he told me in the dream. And I feel at peace. At last.”

She didn’t tell them about Kevin speaking. She still wasn’t sure she’d actually heard it. He’d remained silent when he joined his family to have breakfast and open presents, but he seemed changed. His face was calm, his eyes focused but gentle. He looked as if a huge weight had been lifted from his young shoulders and Moira was grateful.

“Oh Moira,” Sarah whispered, her eyes shimmering with tears, “I’m so happy for you. I know it’s been a long time coming.”

“Thank you,” said Moira. “Thank you both for the gift. I don’t know how it worked, but I’m grateful.

Jareth and Sarah gathered their friend into a warm group hug. “You’re welcome,” said Sarah.

“Merry Christmas, Moira dear,” said Jareth. 

* * *

The blinking lights of the tree cast a red and green glow across Toby’s face as he slept, sprawled out and snoring on the sofa. From the television, voices mumbled and music swelled as the movie went into its final act.

_ “Merry Christmas Bedford Falls!” _

_ “Merry Christmas, George!” _

The last half of the film had gone mostly ignored. Toby had fallen asleep, exhausted from a day of presents and silly games and more food than even a fifteen-year-old boy could handle. 

Sarah and Jareth sat together on the faded rug, arms and legs entangled, mouths pressed together, no words, just the smacking of lips and a few soft, satisfied moans. 

“Sarah,” Jareth said, pausing the make-out session. “Do you want to get married?” 

“Is that your way of proposing?” asked Sarah, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he said. “But I wonder. It’s what’s expected in a place like this, isn’t it?”

“Since when do either of us do what’s expected?” Sarah asked with a little giggle. 

“Quite right,” Jareth began, his brow furrowing. “But… Sarah, do you want to? Would you want to spend the rest of your life chained to the likes of me?”

Sarah sat back and pondered his words. Something about them, his expression… There was an undercurrent of melancholy to his question. 

Could she imagine herself marrying him? Of course. She loved him. She wanted him. She hated when he had to go back to London and leave her. She wanted to always be with him. She could see them having a home together and making a simple, but satisfying life. They would eat meals together and sleep side-by-side. They would do all the ridiculous mundane things: go to the grocery store and the bank, get the oil changed in the Jaguar, get their taxes filed jointly. Occasionally they would argue over something silly and maybe they would raise their voices, but the arguments would be short-lived and quickly followed by profuse apologies and delicious make-up sex. They could have a good life. Simple. Unburdened. Just a Mr and Mrs living and growing old together…

The thought pierced Sarah’s heart like an iron-tipped spear and she gasped at the realization. Growing old. She would grow old. She would wither and die. Jareth would not. 

She looked at him and saw the anguished expression on his face. It read as if he’d followed the trail of her thoughts, ending in the same moment of painful clarity. 

“Sarah,” he said, bringing a hand to her cheek to catch the tears that fell. She felt herself crumble. She couldn’t ask him to stay with her. Not if it meant him watching her fade a little every day. He would remain eternally beautiful and she would become gray and wrinkled, her youth and beauty lost to Time. 

“Jareth,” she whispered. “I can’t…”

She didn’t want to think about the passage of time and how it would change her and not him. How would he feel to find himself bound to an old crone while he remained youthful and handsome? Would he come to be repulsed by her? Would she awaken one day and reach a wrinkled hand out for him only to find that he’d gone, unable to remain with a graying old woman? Sarah knew it would kill her if he did. 

Jareth drew her closer to him and kissed the corners of her eyes, her tears spilling over his lips.

“My love,” he whispered. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked. I only wanted to know because…” He lifted her chin up and brought her gaze to his. “I have a special Christmas gift for you.”

Sarah shook her head. “If it’s what I think it is, Jareth, please don’t,” she told him. “A finite life is good enough for me. I’d love to be remembered, but I have no desire to be immortal.”

Jareth cocked his head to one side. “Even if it means spending forever with me?” he asked. 

“Spending forever with you sounds lovely, Jareth,” she answered, taking his hand in hers. “But I know there is always a price to pay for such things. Maybe I’ve read too many books and watched too many movies, but immortality hardly ever pays off for those who have it bestowed upon them. For you, it’s probably different. For me though, it would likely be a curse rather than a blessing.”

Jareth sat back against the sofa and Sarah watched him in the flickering light. 

“You’re probably right,” he said after a few moments. “Immortality is certainly not without its… challenges.” He turned to her, his eyes alight. “But Sarah, that’s not the gift I had in mind.”

“It’s not?”

He shook his head. “My magic can do many things, but I have no power over Life and Death.”

“Then what are we even talking about, Jareth?” Sarah groaned. “I’m not going to marry you and expect you to stay with me when I’m an old hag and you’re still young and hot. Unless maybe you want an open marriage. But I hardly see myself just sitting back quietly while you parade a bunch of young co-eds through our bedroom--”

Jareth laid a finger over her lips. “Sarah, do shut up,” he said flatly. “Honestly, you give me very little credit. Do you really think me so shallow?”

He kissed her nose and smiled. 

“I am aware of the limits of your humanity. You will change. You will age. But Sarah, let me do it with you.”

“What?” she asked. 

“Let me grow old with you.”

Sarah stared at him, confused. “How?” she asked. 

Jareth traced a finger along her jawline. “While I can’t bestow immortality on you, I _ can _ renounce my own. I can choose a finite life. I would get older and my age would show. Eventually I would fade…”

“But why would you do that?” Sarah asked, shaking her head. “Why would choose a life of bills and leaky faucets and arthritis and thinning hair over one of eternal youth and beauty?

“Because I’ve come to enjoy this funny little existence,” Jareth told her. “I’ve lived centuries above the pain and trouble of humanity. But I’ve lived above its joys too. Those miraculous moments of pure bliss wedged here and there between carpools and budget meetings and microwave dinners. I’ve found so many of those moments with you and I cherish them.”

He kissed her mouth.

“Besides that, Sarah dear,” he continued. “I’m desperately in love with you and would rather have fifty or sixty years growing wrinkled and gray at your side than an eternity of unblemished skin and golden hair without you.” 

“You might not go gray, you know,” Sarah teased. “You might go bald.”

Jareth didn’t flinch. “I don’t care if I end up looking like a _ babushka, _so long as you still consider me fuckable.”

Sarah laughed. “You would really do that? You would really give up immortality to grow old with me?”

“Of course,” Jareth answered. “I would do it without hesitation.”

“But what about when... “ Sarah paused, unsure of how to broach the subject. “Some day, one of us will die,” she continued. “We’ll still be separated.”

Jareth smiled. “If we marry, we become bound in this realm and the next,” he told her. “Even if I relinquish my immortality, I am still a descendant of the Tuatha De Danann. Upon passing from this life, I will go to live among my kinsmen in Tir na Nog. As my wife, you would be granted passage as well. We may be separated for a little while in this life, but we’ll have an eternity together in the next.”

Sarah sat back on her heels and considered Jareth’s words. It all sounded ridiculous. Completely daft. But her life had been more than a little crazy since running the Goblin King’s enchanted maze fifteen years earlier, and she preferred it that way. As much as Jareth appreciated the mundane things of the human world, Sarah loved the bits of magic and madness that seemed to follow those who were Fae-touched. 

“What about your magic?” she asked him.

“I’ll retain a small portion of it,” he told her. “Enough to maintain the glamour and do a few party tricks,” he added with a wink.

There was silence between them for a long moment as Sarah pondered his offer and he waited for her answer. 

“Jareth,” Sarah said at last. “I won’t ask you to surrender your immortality for me. I can’t. That decision is yours and yours alone. Just know that I want to be with you, for fifty years or a thousand or just two or three if that’s all I get.”

“Love, I don’t need you to ask for it,” said Jareth. “I’ve already offered it to you as my gift. I’ve laid my immortality aside and I offer you myself, small, finite, largely powerless. Do you still want me?”

“Of course.”

“Then so be it.”

Sarah waited for thunder and lightning and flickering electricity, but nothing happened. 

“Is that it?” she asked. “Did you do it?”

“Yes,” replied Jareth, adding with a chuckle. “I don’t make everything into a theatrical production, Sarah dear.”

“And yet, I could have sworn I heard a song and dance number when I was fumbling through the Labyrinth,” Sarah retorted, smiling. 

Jareth gathered her up in his arms and kissed her soundly. 

“So what happens now?” she asked when he released her.

He smiled. “I suppose we live happily ever after.”

“Well, in that case,” Sarah said, taking his hand and gazing into his eyes “Jareth G. Brenin, will you marry me?”

“Oh Judy darling,” laughed Jareth. “I thought you’d never ask!”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie they're (not) watching is of course the Christmas classic "It's a Wonderful Life".


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Playlist: "Lullaby" OneRepublic

The wedding was beautiful in its simplicity. The little stone church was covered with Spring wildflowers. Cascades of heather and flax and daisies draped the window ledges and wooden center beams. Sarah and Jareth stood together under a curved bower of more colorful blooms as Reverend Meyers guided them through their vows. 

Sarah wore a gown of ivory Irish lace with a sweeping skirt and flowing sleeves. Her hair was loosely braided and had fragrant flowers woven into it. Jareth wore a jacket and pants the color of fresh cream paired with a rich blue silk tie, a white shirt and blue braces. A single white tulip was pinned to his lapel.

Moira, as Matron of Honor, wore a simple but elegant blue gown and stood at Sarah’s side, holding her bouquet as Sarah slipped a golden band on Jareth’s finger. Toby squirmed uncomfortably in his stiff shirt and tie as he stood at the groom’s side, careful not to drop the shining ring he’d been given charge of as Jareth’s Best Man. 

The reception was raucous as expected, with Robert Williams offering a lengthy and embarrassing toast while Karen sniffled loudly and dabbed at the black streaks under her eyes with a linen handkerchief. Linda Williams did not attend, but sent her best wishes. The bouquet was tossed and landed in Lily Dabney’s arms. Moira made her give it back. There were drinks and dancing and more drinks and more dancing. A romantic honeymoon to a near-deserted tropical island followed, in which Jareth reenacted all the naughty things he’d promised in the sexy story he’d told Sarah the previous November. 

The newlyweds returned to Great Missenden, not to the rowhouse, but to a large brick country house with gardens and adjoining paddocks and stables. Jareth took the train to London twice a week to teach a few European Mythology classes while Sarah plugged away at a third installment of her book. A movie had been made of the first one and the film version of the second book was already underway. She and Jareth had been invited to the premiere, but they had politely declined. They preferred quiet evenings together in the spacious drawing room, reading silently as soft music played on the antique hi-fi and Sir Lancelot draped across Jareth’s lap while Peaches flitted in her cage above Sarah’s shoulder. 

On one such evening, Sarah closed her book and laid it aside and turned to her husband. She smiled thinking of him as that. Her  _ husband.  _ Such a simple word for all that he was.

“I need to tell you something,” she said. Jareth looked up from his reading, his eyes gazing at her from above his tortoise-shell frames.

“What is it, love?” he asked. 

“I’ve stopped taking the pill,” she replied.

“What pill?”

“THE pill.”

“Oh… OH!”

“I know we never discussed--” she began, but he was already on her, sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her up the stairs to their bedroom to make passionate love to her. 

Thirty-eight weeks and two days later, Sarah sat on her knees in a tub of warm water. She leaned forward, resting her fevered forehead on the cool edge of the tub while Jareth held her hand in one of his and rubbed her naked back with the other. The doula they had hired scurried around in the background.

“You’re doing fine, love,” he said. 

“Tell me again,” Sarah groaned when the doula stepped out of the room for more towels, “Why can’t I have drugs?”

“Because, Sarah dear, we don’t know what effect they might have on a human/Fae child,” Jareth told her. 

“But it hurts so much, Jareth,” Sarah said, panting. She looked up at him and he felt a stab of pain to his heart. He hated to see her so miserable. 

“I can ease your pain a bit, my love,” he told her. “But it’s important for you to feel and know when to push.”

“Isn’t that why we hired a doula?” Sarah retorted. Jareth started to answer, but another contraction hit at that moment and Sarah cried out and gripped his hand so hard he saw stars. 

“Breathe, love,” he told her. He demonstrated the slow breathing technique they’d learned in birthing class, and though Sarah initially shot him a frightening glare, she eased back and followed his lead, breathing in deeply and slowly releasing. 

“There now,” he said as the contraction subsided and she relaxed again. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Jareth was lucky the doula returned at that moment or he might have been dragged into the tub and drowned. 

“Let’s see,” said the woman, shooing Jareth from his seat beside the tub. She sat down in his place and Sarah leaned back and allowed the doula to examine her. The woman placed one hand on her swollen belly and the other between her legs, checking the dilation of her cervix.

“It’s time to start pushing,” she said. She helped Sarah position her legs into more of a squat and cushioned her back with rolls of towels. 

“I can’t do this,” Sarah whimpered as she felt the rolling approach of another contraction. 

Jareth returned to his place at her side and took her hand. “I’m here, love. You can do it. You can do anything.”

Sarah gripped his hand and bore down. 

Five pushes later, a chubby, bawling baby with dark hair and clear blue eyes wriggled out of her and burst out into the warm water of the bathtub. 

“It’s a boy!” announced the doula as she scooped him out of the water and placed him, still wailing, on Sarah’s chest. 

Cradling him against her breast, Sarah leaned down to peek at her son. His cries turned to whimpers and then to soft grunts as he settled against the familiar heartbeat. Jareth peered down over her shoulder at him. 

“He’s beautiful,” he said, beaming. Sarah agreed. He was perfect. Dark fuzz covered his head and long, dark lashes framed his eyes. His brows bore the faint markings of his father’s race, but in a subtle way that most people would never notice. He had a small pink bowtie mouth and round cheeks. His arms and legs were plump, with adorable dimples and rolls of baby fat.

“What is his name?” asked the doula.

Sarah looked up at Jareth and smiled.

“Kieran,” they said in unison. 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for leaving such kind and encouraging comments. This story was a labor of love and just seemed to pour out of me over the past few weeks. I'm still not quite sure I'm ready to leave it. There may be a series of vignettes to follow. If you'd like to see that, please let me know. Thank you all again!  
Full Story Playlist at:  
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7vAJS1cBm4in0bssh7iNm1  
~Fanny~

**Author's Note:**

> Pinterest Board for inspo for this fic including clothing porn, food porn, and J/S pics here:  
https://www.pinterest.com/philyra/the-secrets-we-keep/


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